Encounters
by Kira Loves
Summary: Batman and Joker chronicle their interactions but what does that mean? Discover their true thoughts and feelings as they embark on a new era in their epic rivalry. More in depth summary inside. BatmanxJoker. Slash.
1. I Wrote A Little Something

**A/N: Welcome to the sickness of my latest obsession! Yes, I've decided to go out into the fanfiction world and provide a little Batman and Joker love for you all. **

**Summary: The story's set up is a firsthand documentation of the relationship between the Joker and Batman from the perspectives of both characters respectively as well as an omniscient narrative, describing situations at hand. Batman records their encounters in a computer database under Joker's file. Joker, however, takes a more creative approach to remembering his **_**good times**_** with the knight by writing poetry. Together, the documents and narrative show just what happens to the Joker and the Bat as they deal with loss, love, and each other.**

**Warning: Homosexuality. Cussing. Violence. Sex.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own the wonderful world of Gotham, nor Batman or Joker or any other characters used from the Gotham universe. If I did, your childhood would have changed DRAMATICALLY. ;) **

_Twinkle, twinkle little bat._

_How I liked it when you sat_

_upon my chest and grabbed me so_

_as if you never would let go._

_You growled at me all dark and mean,_

_"Where are the kids! What's your scheme?"_

_Oh, how I howled. You'd lost your cool._

_"Kids? Well, Bats, they should be in school."_

_Your fist kissed the side of my head._

_I felt as if I'd laugh to death._

_You're so cute when you're beyond pissed._

_"What?" I asked, "Have they been missed?"_

_Lifted by lapels and slammed to the floor._

_"Joker! I'm not playing games anymore!"_

_"Oh, but, Batsy, it's so much fun!"_

_A kick to your groin, "Besides, we've just begun!"_

_I smile and cackle, fleeing the fight._

_'Another time, my dear dark knight.'_

The Joker sat quite pleased with his work. It was as light and whimsical as his current attitude. He was always in a good mood after an encounter with the Bat. Either that or an aggressive one. Considering the Joker's mental state, there was a thin difference. He signed his name, Joker, sharply at the bottom of the page much to a henchman's dismay. In lieu of adequate writing surfaces, the Joker would often use the back of a spare lackey. It served him well as inspiration struck him spontaneously, and due to his impulsive nature, he found it necessary to write when the opportunity presented itself.

Joker's private room was ill lit. The boards creaked and groaned in such a way that anyone bold enough to enter the madman's sanctum feared that the floor itself would fall apart and leave them for dead, that is, of course, if the Joker didn't do it first. The Joker had 'decorated' the room to his liking, with splashes of red paint on the ceiling and disturbing images covering the walls. The blood stains on the torn and tattered wallpaper didn't help either. A bed was crammed into the corner, the covers and pillow dark with bits of the Joker's own blood, results from many a beating from the Bat. Deceivingly toy-like devices littered the floor, each withholding some deadly power. It was like a child's bedroom turned nightmarish. Joker felt at home.

The room was on the top floor of an abandoned apartment complex. A powerful mob had once claimed the building under their dominion but the Joker persuaded them to move out and keep quiet about it years ago by recruiting some to his own forces and killing the rest. His only reasoning being that, as a young boy, he had always wanted to live in this neighborhood. The morning after the takeover though, he couldn't remember ever having specifically wanted it at all much less for a reason.

The Joker gave his underling a kick to the seat of the pants. The man responded accordingly, by leaving, though grumbling all the while. The Joker glanced over the paper, taking in his work. He let out a chuckle before throwing the paper behind him. He lifted an arm in the air and inhaled his aroma.

"Sewer," he noted, "how delightfully–new."

_Encounter 135_

_Last night I located Joker in a new hideout. To my slight dismay, he had chosen to take refuge in the sewer systems. It was a risky move for him, considering that Croc claimed Gotham's bowels as his territory. It was apparent that either they had come to some sort of agreement or the Joker had gotten rid of him as the rank and murky waters showed no sign of the creature._

_Nonetheless, finding Joker was the easy part. It was getting information out of him that was difficult. After facing a few hordes of lesser opponents, I stood face to face, alone with Joker. As usual, he attempted to pull me into banter. I sometimes wonder if he has some sort of Saturday morning cartoon fixation on me. Still, he always manages to push my buttons._

_Regardless, a struggle ensued, admittedly due to my initiating it. After a round of fighting, I had him down on the ground. I restrained him beneath me, straddling his torso and pinning his arms with my knees._

_He always has a smile on his face. I know it's the scars that make it appear so, but whenever we have a confrontation, he seems to smile out of his own will. He chortles, chuckles, howls, and screams with laughter all during. I've made theories about his mental instability on multiple occasions but I feel most confident in saying that the man has sadomasochistic tendencies. It sickens me that I seem to bring them out._

_He has a habit of wriggling his body when pinned. Over time, I've discovered that he doesn't do so in an attempt to escape. However, I am unclear as to the motive or thought behind the movements._

_...it has crossed my mind that the position may give off some form of–pleasure, enticing him to move his body in such a manner, once again due to his sadomasochism… I shudder at the thought._

_He revealed nothing to me about the missing children of Gotham's most run down public school. He simply batted around in his fit of puns and ludicrousness. I punched him in an attempt to produce answers. Punching never helps but the hits seems to satisfy me a little._

…_that is, my anger. Hitting Joker satisfies my anger._

_He flipped me over, much to my surprise, and took a cheap shot to my genitals. I don't know how he knew that I'd forgotten the protection for that particular area but I was down for the moment; Embarrassing but accurate._

_The Joker got away. Day began to break above in the surface world and I retreated to the Batcave. I must remember to update his file. He's become more physically capable than he used to be. Or maybe he'd always been this capable. I'm not sure. Then again I'm never sure about him._

Bruce sighed.

"End dictation," he said solemnly.

The bright blue, large screened computer hummed. Alfred's voice had been programmed into the computer and the butler's technological voiced counterpart responded.

"Right away, Master Bruce," it replied, the screen going into a quick frenzy, saving, transferring and updating all at once.

The caped crusader ran a hand through his dark hair. The latex and rubber of his suit made a slight squeaking noise against the leather of the chair he was sitting in.

_Right, I haven't even changed out yet._ Bruce thought, a finger swiping at the black that inked his eyelids.

Alfred usually would have met up with the hero down in the Batcave, reminded him to change out of his clothes and list off the duties as Bruce Wayne for the next day. However, Alfred had not because he could not.

The Batcave was enormous. The underground caverns echoed with every sound. It smelled earthy, roots hanging from the ceiling. Bits of light existed in the cave, pale blue lanterns in a sea of dark and dirt. The super computer was the biggest source of light. Bruce watched it momentarily as Alfred's tin voice declared that it was entering sleep mode.

Bruce thought about changing the voice of the Batcave's massive terminal many times but something always stopped him from doing so. Remembering Alfred wasn't like remembering his parents. Bruce found memories of his mother and father to be unnecessarily painful and refused to think of them. Alfred, on the hand, hurt in a different way. Bruce assumed that it was because Alfred died of old age. It was a coming death, one that they could talk about and come to terms with, not like a murder.

Bruce approached the Batcave's restroom. He turned on the dim light and then the sink. The water flowed clear but it was exceptionally cold. The half disguised hero braced himself for the shock of the water against his skin. The sink became absorbed with black. Bruce looked up at his reflection and touched it. The coal makeup had faded on his eyes but streamed down onto his cheeks. It looked as if Bruce had cried. He glared at the reflection as he dug a towel into the skin that covered his right cheekbone. He was a grown man after all; he shouldn't be gazing at himself with a face drenched in half washed makeup. Then again, a grown man shouldn't be wearing makeup at all.

Meanwhile, the Joker stood at his own bathroom sink. He had finished the ritual of unmasking himself. He was not to be seen or disturbed and the doors were bolted. He let the water run, trapped in some train of thought no sane person could navigate, let alone understand. The water had a tint of brown to it as it ran from the faucet. The basin contained a sick mixture of black and red all within clouds of creamy white foundation. A rag hung nearby, stained with the same colors. Joker looked into the cracked and broken mirror, a house improvement he had done himself. Bits of his real face were visible but so spread out and disfigured that he was indistinguishable. He stared into the shards of his reflection, his hands griping onto the sink, his breath heavy, his mind a million sanities away.

**A/N: Well, there's the first chapter. Joker and Batsy like good reviews as they make love to them, only Batsy likes positive critiques because he's a logical, perfectionist prick, and the Joker does in fact like flames, but not the kind fanfiction would give me so be nice lest his pyro-happy ass come find you.**


	2. I Made It Just For You

**A/N: Hello again! Welcome to the second chapter! I hope you guys like this one. :)**

_Encounter 136_

_It's been two days since the incident at the sewers. This evening, I turned on the nine o'clock news to find the Joker's painted mug plastered on their green screen. He's got the kids with him. Somehow or another the maniac managed to perch a school bus on the edge of Gotham's highest tower. The first group of kids was, of course, inside. He's set up the typical moral dilemma, I'm sure. In the previous day, Joker kidnapped another group of children, one's from a rich and well known private school. I'm sure he's pinning the two groups against each other. He had a sign with him. He was dancing in front of it. It said, "Batsy" followed by a question mark. What a prick… Suit up complete._

Bruce pulled on his left glove as he ended his dictation. It was no wonder why he was the terror of the night. He stood a full six feet tall, muscles shielded but outlined by pitch black rubber armor. The cowl of his costume added another two inches onto his height. His eyes were two ice blue beads staring out of the black mask. His run was a powerful stride as he dove into the Batmobile.

The Batmobile was a wonder all to itself; the shining, black, bullet proof exterior molded into a sleek automobile, bat wings tipping the back of its intricate design. Underneath the hood stood enough horse power to tear off the bodies of the cars it passed and enough fire power to demolish an entire block. It was the ideal weapon and ideal transportation.

The car scanned Batman, recognizing the caped crusader and automatically started up. The Bat and mobile took off to the inner heart of Gotham with a thunderous roar.

Meanwhile, at the top of Gotham Tower, a school bus of frightened and underprivileged children cried out to news helicopters that circled them. It was a group of fifth graders, huddled at the front of a run down, bus. The numbers 1192 were in scratched and faded black paint that clung onto the mustard yellow almost as desperately as the children clung to each other. The other end of the bus hung dangerously over the edge of the infamous skyscraper, its bloated back tires looming over the city. The back doors hung out like opened arms to the smoggy Gotham sky.

"Look!" one of the children exclaimed.

The young boy pointed out the front windows. Across the way, a clown masked man led in another group of kids. It was roughly the same number as that of the group in the bus.

"What's on their backs?" a girl asked.

Every girl and boy in the lineup had a device attached to his or her back. The small metallic backpacks had a red lipped smiling face on it. The children on the bus watched in horror as the other group was forced to stand out on the ledge.

"No!" a little girl shouted from the bus.

A man in a purple and green suit appeared from the roof entrance and approached the children forced onto the ledge.

"It's the-" a young boy stammered.

A high frequency pitched into the bus.

"Joker here," the Joker's voice came on to the bus despite him being on the other side of the rook, "Hello–children."

Not a soul moved on the bus. It was dead silence. The children's faces stared at the figure in the distance, their wide, innocent eyes conveying slight shock and utter fear.

"Yes, it's really me." The Joker continued as if sensing the children's emotions, "How would you all like to play a little game? Oh! Don't tell me. The answer is yes. You're all children after all. Little persons, such as you, love games."

The bus kids listened carefully, none of them moving an inch. They could hear the stifled sniffling of the other lot in the background static. A smaller boy with glasses moved his eyes up towards the source of the sound and located a small box outfitted with an antennae and speaker.

"A walkie-talkie!" the little one declared, his peers following his gaze.

"Oh, very observant but not quite," Joker corrected, "See, walkie-talkies don't usually allow free communication both ways at the same time. It's modified so I can hear your sniffling and threaten you at once." The Joker chortled.

Down below, Batman met in secret with Commissioner Gordon. The two couldn't be seen together, considering that the effects of the Dent situation still had not cleared up enough and that the Joker was on the loose. Gordon had put on a little more weight since then but two and a half years was enough time for anything. The older man's mustache seemed to have turned a few more strands gray and the bags underneath his eyes had doubled. Alfred had seemed to suddenly age not too long ago. Bruce wondered briefly when Gordon's time would be up.

"It's a hostage situation, Batman," the Commissioner explained, "My men can't budge without so much as a threat to kill every last one of them!"

"It's not just any threat," Batman growled, lowering his voice to disguise it, "Joker's a man of his word. Granted, he'll twist it up to his advantage if needed but he'll still keep it. You know as well as I do that those kids are in danger."

Gordon nodded to the dark hero and put a hand on his shoulder.

"We need you, Batman. But as soon as it's over, you make sure you get the hell out of there."

The clown clad villain continued on with his game back on the roof.

"Now, this is how we're going to play," he hissed sweetly, "Attached to your beat up little school bus is a weight hooked to the very front. It is the exact amount needed to keep you all from toppling over and falling to your deaths. And attached to the backs of these little pompous preteens, are my Backpack Backfires. These little suckers will exert a pretty colored little blast sending these children also toppling over and to their deaths."

The Joker paced back and forth, up and down the line of the frightened sons and daughters of Gotham's wealthy. He reached out and patted the head of a little blonde girl who shivered at his touch.

"Here's where the fun starts. As you can see, you're split into two groups. I'm an easy man to please. I want just one of the groups to die. And I'm leaving it up to you."

The Joker returned back to the little blonde girl and handed her a small detonator type of device.

"Children of the bus," the Joker directed, "If our little genius child who found the walkie-talkie system would be so kind as to find the little red button on the dashboard, right next to the steering wheel?"

The children poked the boy in glasses and he looked around until he found it. He approached it and his palm hovered above it.

"I found it!" the boy exclaimed.

"Good! Good, now that button sets off the Backpack Backfires," the Joker then turned his attention back to the blonde girl, "Now, little Suzy here–may I call you Suzy? You look like a Suzy–anyway, she has a button that if she presses it, the weight on your bus will detach."

The children began to panic. The Joker cackled, the wind moving about his tousled, dirty curls. His pacing continued, the rhythmic tap of his shoes never ending on the concrete.

"You have five minutes to decide which one of you dies and whoever decides first wins," he added, "You could discuss the decision with each other but it won't do you any good with just five minutes. But don't look at it as murder, kids. As far as you rich children go, you're just getting rid of the less fortunate now as opposed to later. Less fortunate children, you're clearing your lives of that many people who are going to put you down and out and keep you there. Best of luck!"

The bus kids began panicking while the ledge group remained still from the vertigo. The Joker burst into a sudden laughter.

"Silly me! I almost forgot the best part! If you don't decide in five minutes, I'm just going to push my little red button and kill you all. Have fun!"

"Joker!" Batman called from the darkness.

The hero emerged from the shadows and put the Joker in a choke hold. The Joker began to wheeze as Batman tightened his grip.

"Batman!" the Joker coughed out, "You're late."

A boy from the ledge attempted to turn around.

"Batman..?" the little boy squeaked.

Batman looked at the little boy. The boy was a little tall for his age. His eyes were blue and round, tears rimming them as he looked at the Bat.

"It's going to be okay. I'll get you in a minute," Batman assured.

The Joker took advantage of Batman's momentary distraction and with a snicker, reached into his coat pocket and stuck a joy-buzzer onto the hero's arm. The jolt caused Batman to release Joker. The Joker caught his breath as he hit the floor. Batman knelt over from the shock. The Joker stood up.

"Oh, Batsy! You made me turn red!" the Joker giggled, "Now it's your turn!" he hissed.

The Joker ran up to the downed Bat and kicked him square in the jaw. Batman rolled over on his back. The Joker grabbed Batman's shoulders, lifted him, and then smacked the Bat's muscular body against the concrete.

Batman felt dazed by the well placed assaults. The lights circled around and the Joker had a half-fazed clone following him.

Joker straddled his legs over Batman and then proceeded to sit on top of the dark knight's groin. He bounced twice against him before pulling a knife from his pocket and holding it to Batman's throat.

"Oh, I'm disappointed!" he exclaimed, moving his hips in a slow, circular motion, "You remembered to wear a cup this time, didn't you, Bats? And here I was hoping."

The pressure moved the armored plates gently and Batman, too disoriented to think about it, had the stirrings of arousal going on underneath.

The children were still frantic. They began to argue about pressing their buttons. They had discussed maybe running away but the guards made it impossible. Both groups concluded that someone had to die.

Batman, still a bit dizzy, tried to speak.

"Joker, children?" he accused, "How sick are you?"

The Joker suddenly snapped and sent a strong back handed slap across Batman's face.

"It's them who are sick, Batman," Joker replied menacingly and then calmed, "We've talked about this. Rules make you into a lying–man eating–sub creature that we call civilized. When this society falls, you'll see things my way, Batman. Our way" he ended, stroking the side of the Bat's face with the blade, and his tongue traveling across his upper lip.

The blonde girl's thumb hovered over the button as her peers urged her to press it. The glasses boy on the bus held himself in front of the button bravely as the other children tried to reach it. The five minutes was almost up.

"Never," Batman stated as he grabbed the knife and punched Joker.

The police then flooded on to the roof. The officers shot down the spare clowns and then rushed to aid the children.

Batman grabbed Joker and threw him. The Joker scrambled and he held his detonator high.

"Give me the detonator, Joker!" Batman demanded.

"Come and get it, Bats," Joker taunted.

Half of the children from both groups were already heading down the stairs with police officials. Joker climbed on top of the roof entrance and Batman easily followed. The Joker stood in a fighting stance and Batman tackled him. He held down the other man's wrists.

"The detonator! Now!" he bellowed.

The Joker smiled at him, his mouth still agape.

Almost all the children were evacuated but the threat still remained. It was any wonder what that button did. That's when Batman noticed. The Joker's gob still remained ajar and there, peeking out of the black, was the detonator.

_He's holding it in his mouth!_ Batman realized.

The hero looked for how to retrieve it but his hands were too busy restraining the resisting Joker. Batman looked down at the Joker and stared into his scarred, blood red lined mouth. He then made the mistake of looking the Joker in the eyes. Deep in the bottom of the pools of black, Joker's hazel eyes gave off the smallest sparkle. Joker raised an eyebrow at Batman, as if to say, 'you don't have it in you.'

That look fueled something in Batman and the next thing he knew, his lips crashed against the Joker's. The Bat's tongue danced wildly around the detonator, feeling the other man's tongue move as well. They fought over the device for a few minutes. As this went on, Batman schemed to drag the struggling Joker's arms up so that he could hold them down together with one hand.

Joker was enjoying the situation, trying hard not to giggle. He had closed his eyes when the kiss had initiated but decided to open them, just to see the look of the Bat. The look of disgust was sure to be drilling down into the Joker's skull straight from the Bat's eyes and it would amuse him. The Joker thought of himself as clever. This action, to the news copters, would look like a spontaneous kiss. It wasn't as if Batman could go to the press and say otherwise. Rumors would pile up, scandal would be made. Were they really enemies? Or some twisted couple of lovers playing out a dangerous fantasy? The dark knight's credibility would plummet and he would be further driven to the edge of insanity.

But Batman's eyes were closed. The burning hatred Joker had predicted did not rain down from the hero's icy blues. The Bat suddenly pulled away and bit the Joker's lip. It was a harsh bite, drawing out real blood onto the Joker's oil painted smile. Batman returned to tonguing the Joker in attempts to take the small device. All the while though, his eyes remained peacefully closed, not winced shut. It was almost as if Batman was treating this action as –

_A kiss?_ Joker thought.

The Joker suddenly pushed the device into Batman's mouth with his tongue just as the Batman successfully held down the Joker's arms above his head, grabbing at the wrists.

Batman opened his eyes, surprised by the offering. He bit the detonator, careful to avoid the button. Hero and villain breathed in heavy, their chests heaving. The fist that Batman had formed with his free hand unintentionally relaxed. He gazed down at the Joker. Joker's greasy curls hung away from his face. His eyes were wide, two golden planets in the black abyss. His makeup was smeared across the bottom half of his face. His bottom lip trembled, slightly exposed from the usual red.

The roar from helicopters blade seemed to fade. Batman's heart pounded. The beat was fast and strong, thundering against his ribs. It almost hurt as it thud beneath his armor.

"You're under arrest!" shouted an officer, breaking the moment.

Batman shook his head and spat the detonator into his free hand. He threw it off to the side, yelling to the officer to disable it. He glanced down at the Joker again, who hadn't shifted a bit, his clothes disheveled and his face poised in an expression of wonder. Batman caught himself leaning in to his face, his lips slightly parted. He released the Joker's arms quickly and jumped up from his rival. He ran towards the end of the building and dived off the end, spreading out his cape to glide and still, there weren't enough police sirens or helicopters in the world to drown out the sound of his heart.

The Joker shot up to his knees. He watched the black figure drifting out into Gotham even as it disappeared in the night sky. He felt a hit to his back and he fell forward, his face smashed against the concrete. He heard the click and felt the cold of a pair of handcuffs against his wrists.

"You're going to jail, Joker!" Commissioner Gordon announced, "You sick bastard."

Joker registered nothing. They dragged him off, not because of struggle but because he was motionless. As they did so, Joker kept staring at the same piece of sky. It called to him, the blackness. It looked so beautiful to him despite the haze of smoke and streetlight. The Bat was long gone from that spot but Joker still gazed at it, knowing that he was once there, turning only to return to it. He watched it as they dragged him away and drove him away but no matter what they did he couldn't stop staring.

**A/N: Aw, there it is; the Joker's and Batsy's first kiss with each other. Beautiful, no? I would really like to hear from you readers. See you guys soon!**


	3. I Don't Think You Liked It

**A/N: Well, here comes the third chapter! Before I get into this, I'd like to thank you guys for your reviews. Indeed, Lucky Duck 24, those poor children! D: But it was a necessary (almost) sacrifice. It was done in the name of Batsy/Joker slash-y goodness! :D I'm going to give you a warning, there's a new character introduced but I'm sure you all will recognize this one.**

_Grey walls_

_I don't see white_

_Black walls, black sky, dark knight_

_It could be fun, grey walls, but they're not._

_Come back._

"That's uh–a very nice poem, Mr. uh, Joker," the blonde psychiatrist replied as she put the photograph of the poem back on the table, "But do you really think it was necessary to write it in the blood of your cellmate?"

The Joker looked at the photograph through the glass window between himself and the psychiatrist. He took pride in the poor penmanship, blood made awful ink, simply not enough of it in one human body, but he preferred things a little messy. He preferred everything a little messy.

Despite his work being displayed before him he felt forlorn. Prison had been interesting the first time around. Inmates were a gas. Literally. He had gassed an entire section of the facility on his first day in. He had stayed for three, the exact time it took for the paperwork to go through to transfer him to Arkham, frightening his fellow inmates and the staff for his own pleasure all the while. The night that they had gone into his cell to forcibly transfer him, all they found was a tape recorder with his insane giggles and cackles. A room filled with laughter but no Joker.

The asylum wasn't nearly as entertaining as regular prison. Most of the patients in his sector were drugged up so much that they'd become drooling, moving corpses. People were only entertaining as long as they were alive. A dead body meant game over and the people surrounding the Joker might as well have been dead. The Joker had evaded medication for the time being solely based on the fact that the staff had no idea where to start. To be honest, the staff was frightened of the criminal madman. To this day, no one knows how he gassed all of those people.

"Mr. Joker?" the woman asked, her light Brooklyn accent tickling the Joker's ears. "Mr. Joker? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The Joker blinked and focused in on the psychiatrist.

"Well, sure. I'm a madman with a joke nobody gets." the Joker replied.

The woman sighed as she pulled the picture back down. She tapped her fingernails against the metallic counter, an echoing clack following.

"Mr. Joker?" she then grunted, her lips pursing, "Look, don't you have any real name? Any at all? It's irritating to refer to you this way!"

She could have been a very pretty woman. However, she was the type who stayed in shape for health purposes as opposed to aesthetic beauty. The kind who didn't wear makeup and whose plain ponytail was as much a part of her daily routine as brushing her teeth was. The sort whose nails were kept short and unpainted. The type of woman who never had any real fun, not ever.

"Are you… jealous?" Joker offered.

The tapping came to an abrupt halt. Her eyes widened a bit. As the remark sunk in the Joker let a smile skim across his face. The paint on him had remained untouched for days now and cracked at the very hint of an expression. The Joker had been unsettlingly silent and agreeable for most of the trip to Arkham until a guard brought a cloth to his face. He had an outburst and threatened the death of anyone who so much as attempted to remove his makeup. He also promised the death of that person's friends and family which Joker assured would come before the offending individual's own. No one on the staff was brave enough to risk it. The Joker's appearance was left as it was, with the exception of an asylum uniform, a crimson red button up and pants, which the Joker willingly put on, having returned to his own special brand of normalcy. He found the idea of it rather exciting, stating that he got tired of that old monkey suit now and then. An affair with a new set of clothes would be fun even though he knew he'd get back to his old, beloved set in no time.

"Jealous? Of course not," the doctor replied, swiping a loose strand of blonde behind her ear, "I am an established doctor. What would I possibly be jealous of?"

"Are you trying to convince me or you about that?" Joker mocked, "You're new to this game, Ms. Quinzel. You're hardly a doctor yet Ms. Quinzel, and the only reason you think you're _established_ is because you think you can make a quick buck for writing a book after you examine me and tell the world just who I really am, right?" Joker summarized.

Doctor Quinzel looked at the madman with surprise and slight awe. How had he known all that? The Joker's smile spread across his smug mug.

"Vent systems, Ms. Quinzel, gossiping co-workers and vent systems."

It was true, the only reason she was in this conference room with this deranged clown was to cash in on his insanities. Plenty of established doctors had done it before. Hell, it was the reason they were established. Still, hearing it from the Joker himself was discomforting. Suddenly, she felt embarrassed. All of the other doctors had refused him as a patient for fear of their lives and loved ones. Harley had no loved ones and at twenty eight, the air of teenage immortality still lingered about her. Most of all, it was opportunity. Yes, opportunity. The thing that makes faithful men cheat on their wives, religious figures steal from their churches, and good kids do bad things. Opportunity, which made Harleen Quinzel sit down with the Joker.

"That," she paused, "is irrelevant, Mr. Joker. You and I need to make some progress–"

"For that million dollar book?"

"For the sake of your sanity!" she snapped.

The Joker smiled, her buttons were easy to push. Perhaps Arkham wasn't as boring as he thought. After all, there was nobody to talk to in prison.

Doctor Quinzel composed herself, taking a deep breath.

"Okay, trying to get you to say anything about your past is a pointless endeavor–" she began.

"What are you talking about? I grew up in a broken home, Ms. Quinzel, a foster home too. You see these scars? They look like they hurt don't they? You see, my foster mother had been upset and sewing the day she gave them to me–"

The doctor put up her hand and the Joker stopped.

"Yes. Yes, I know. And tomorrow they'll have come from a pimp when you were a young, homeless man selling your body in the streets of New York. Since you've got a Russian roulette memory, I'd prefer we start somewhere else."

The Joker's head dropped. His green, greasy locks fell over his face.

"It's not my fault, doc." he started, his voice quiet, "I know that I can't remember. I'm aware. But I don't think I can remember what did happen so my mind gives me these stories. I'm always convinced that they're the truth, even this one. But you're the second person to tell me that I'm not– consistent." he looked up at the doctor, his eyes pleading with hers, "You think you could you tell me why?"

Doctor Quinzel's dark blue eyes were locked with the Joker's. The hazel dots hidden in his darkened eyelids looked like a spark. Perhaps a spark of humanity. He pulled his body in to himself, not being a very big man to begin with. He looked like a child sitting there on the other end of the glass. The good doctor had always liked children. At one point she'd wanted to do child psychology but in the end she'd found herself here, just to spite her colleagues by turning away from the maternal instinct. She felt her hand move towards him, dying to meet his shoulder, but paused halfway through, realizing that the glass would prevent her from doing so.

"I…" she stated, her eyes still fixed on his, "I assume something very bad must have happened to you, Mr. Joker. I'm sorry."

The Joker tilted his head a little. While his brief monologue had been true, the Joker was a lot of things but not usually a liar, he had only said it in order to get a reaction. He thought it might be entertaining to give her a little bit of what she wanted, just to reel it back from her. The Joker hadn't expected such a tender response.

It meant she was unprofessional and that made her go from entertaining to interesting. There were two different types of people in the world, according to Joker; the entertaining and the interesting. Entertaining people were fun for a time but were intended to die. Interesting people were a different story. People of interest were just as amusing but they weren't allowed to die. No, they were meant to come around to the Joker's line of thinking and they were meant to suffer.

"J," the Joker offered, "You can call me J."

Doctor Quinzel's mouth dropped a bit and a light gasp escaped her lips. She fumbled for her pen, the earlier moment broken. She poised it to scribble down a note but her hand shook.

"Is that a–a name?" she asked.

The Joker giggled at her.

"Name? No," he replied, "It's an initial! The first one to be exact."

"Oh," Harley began to collect herself and wrote down a few notes, displaying a disappointment in not obtaining a real identity.

"I'd like to be friends." the Joker leaned in towards the window and smiled softly, "What's your real name, Ms. Quinzel? Can't be friends with such formalities and if anybody needs a friend in this mad house, it's you."

It was true, Harley didn't have any friends. The staff looked down on her, men and women alike, either because she was female or because she was young. It wasn't exactly easy to make friends in Gotham. It was a big city filled with low class criminals and high class snobs and she fell into neither role. Harley's shoulders slumped and the pen grew limp in her fingers. Yes, if anybody did need a friend, it was her.

"You're lonely," the Joker's voice had softened again. "It's okay. I am too."

The Joker gently pressed his hand against the glass and his eyes were laid on Harley. She looked up at her patient. His face had morphed from its previously condescending smile into an inviting expression of understanding. Their gazes locked again.

"Harley. My name's Harley."

The Joker's smile was soft. The scars no longer looked like the markings of a beast but rather the lingering prints of pain from a former life. A life that had somehow produced this man. A man who was clinically insane and yet a man who appeared to be the most understanding person Harley had ever come across in her entire life.

Harley reached her hand up towards the Joker's. She matched it against his. Her fingers and palm were smaller than his, his hand seeming to outline her own. It almost appeared to shield hers. She wondered briefly if his hand was warm. She was sure it was, if only she could get pass the glass.

'It's sort of wrong of us, isn't it?' Harley thought to herself, 'locking people up like this. He's not an animal. I thought he was but… I guess he's human deep down.'

"I'm sorry that I thought I could make my career off of you," she apologized, the shame of her intentions sinking in. "I'd really like to help you, if you'll let me."

The Joker took his seat, his tongue making a quick travel across his chapped lips. Harley quickly followed suit, dropping her hand from the glass and dropping her eyes to her lap. She then looked up at him from under her bangs, her hands on her lap and her shoulders slumping so that it forced the lining of her breasts to emerge onto her gray sweater. It was unintentional, the Joker knew that. Even if it wasn't, it would have been a lost action. It didn't produce any effect on him. At most, the Joker saw some potential. She could be very pretty and a pretty face turned to his way of thinking could be very interesting.

"Harley, I don't know if there's any– helping me," the Joker said, "But maybe you could understand me?"

She just needed a little makeup.

"I'd be happy to," she had regained her posture for the hundredth time but this time a smile came with it, a sign that she'd just about given in. "Mr. J, I'd be very happy to".

_Just a little makeup; a little like mine._ the Joker thought.

The intercom static suddenly blared, making Harley jump and the Joker cover his ears.

"Doctor Quinzel," the voice proclaimed, "This is Doctor Larynx, head of doctoral staff. I thought you might like to know that you're late for our conference. Get here. Now."

"Alright!" Harley acknowledged.

She stood up and pushed her chair in.

"We'll talk about this another time, Mr. J," she said, attempting authority.

Joker rolled his eyes.

"Or maybe we could talk about that prick on the box there," he gestured to the intercom, "Head of doctoral staff, what do you think he's compensating for?"

Harley laughed, flashing a perfect set of pearly whites to the Joker. She was weak. She was broken. She had made the mistake of empathy and worse, the mistake of laughing. Harley had indeed become interesting.

The Joker kicked his legs up, resting his scuffed and scratched dress shoes on the metal counter. He threw his head back, curls ungracefully clearing from his face. He put his hands behind his head and let out a laugh.

"And mother always said I wasn't a charmer," he chortled.

Meanwhile Bruce had just entered the bar of a pricey restaurant. Commissioner Gordon had taken a seat close to the entrance, his head snapping up every time the bartender greeted someone. It did so for the last time after Bruce entered and Gordon's eyes lingered on him like a hawk stalking its prey.

Bruce had contacted Gordon under the guise of a technological pursuit for Wayne Enterprises, one that would offer a new automated filing system to the police force (which was actually a former system of the files in the Batcave). Naturally, such an endeavor would require multiple opinions, one being the Commissioner's.

Bruce knew what he had really come to talk about though. He felt as if he were taking the walk of shame, embarrassment shooting up his body with every step. Commissioner Gordon's stare revealed his aura of anger. In what exactly was a bit of a mystery. The supposed kiss or the fact that Bruce had taken this long to contact him, leaving him with no explanation?

"May I offer you a booth, sir?" A waiter asked, happening to approach him just as he opened his mouth to say something to Gordon.

"Uh, yes," Bruce quickly responded and then eased into normal speech, "A private one, please, we have business to discuss."

The waiter nodded as Gordon got up. The Commissioner and Bruce followed the young waiter in utter silence. Bruce concentrated on his shoes as they made their way across polished, mahogany floor. Gordon studied Bruce with intensity, dissecting every aspect about Bruce's physical being, angrily searching for and wordlessly demanding answers. The waiter presented the booth with an extended arm and a smile, which faltered upon looking at the heavy expressions from the other men. Feeling awkward, he silently offered a menu to them as they sat down before grabbing a pitcher of water and pouring them each a glass.

"Bring him another whiskey. I'll have wine. I don't care what kind, the strongest you've got," Bruce ordered.

The waiter nodded and quickly excused himself to do so, glad to leave. Bruce still refused to make eye contact with Gordon and instead picked up the glass of water in front of him and took a gulp.

Gordon watched the waiter until he was sure he was out of ear shot. He then slammed a fist against the table, sending his own glass of water over, soaking the white table cloth.

"What the hell!" Gordon whisper yelled.

Bruce righted the glass quickly, saving half of its contents. He grabbed his napkin and began containing the spill.

"What happened that night, Bruce? Do you realize what that looked like! What exactly was it anyway! God damn it, Bruce, look at me!" Gordon demanded.

Bruce did so and the full scope of the Commissioner's borderline hatred hit Bruce. Bruce sighed, leaving the napkin dam in post construction. He ran a hand through his hair and then let it drop onto his lap.

"I didn't kiss him, Gordon," Bruce stated.

"Really?" Gordon continued to quietly release his fury, "Then what, for the love of Christ, was that? I mean, look at how much I've done for you, Bruce! I've put up with you for years now. Admittedly, you've taken care of things now and then, but you've been more and more of hassle lately and now this! That– that little display, Bruce! Good God, what was that? Are you– I don't even want to say it!"

"It wasn't a kiss, Gordon. I didn't kiss him. Not really. I–"

"Not really!" Gordon shouted at full volume, "I saw what I saw, damn it!"

"Ahem!" the waiter interrupted.

Bruce and Wayne both seemed to shrink in his presence. The high tension seemed to snap in half, leaving an awkward silence. The waiter turned and set the whiskey down in front of Gordon a bit harshly, the light colored liquor sloshing in the glass. He then turned toward Bruce, giving a sympathetic smile, and set the wine before him.

"It gets better, Bruce," the waiter said, placing a hand on the billionaire's shoulder.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, finding the phrase somewhat familiar but not quite appropriate. His jaw dropped as he realized the origin and intention of the statement.

"No, no, it's not what you think. I–"

"Bruce isn't it? As in Bruce Wayne?" the waiter continued, "I thought I recognized you. Look, Bruce, acceptance is the first stage and if you are denying it here and now, how do you expect this knuckle headed dinosaur to ever accept you?"

Gordon glared at the waiter. Bruce's shoulders dropped with a sigh as he decided to surrender to the situation.

"Look, um…" Bruce searched.

"Clayton," the waiter offered.

"Clayton," Bruce addressed, "I will pay you much more than any tabloid could if you stay quiet about this. I'll write a check right now if you'd like."

The waiter straightened up, his white collared shirt shifting out the wrinkles from bending over.

"Oh my God, no!" he shook his hands in front of him, "Coming out of the closet is strictly up to you. I won't say a thing and you don't need to pay me. I respect your decision–" his eyes darted to Gordon, "Unlike some people."

Bruce smiled and Gordon grumbled while his lips approached the whiskey.

"I appreciate that, Clayton," Bruce awkwardly put a hand on the young man's arm, "But in addition to that, could I ask that my friend here and I have absolute privacy for the next half hour? I'm sure you understand the intimacy of this kind of discussion and–"

Clayton brought his hand to his lips and pantomimed a zipper closing shut. He then did an abrupt turn and walked away from the table.

"Thank God," Gordon commented, "Fucking queer. Why are we talking about this in public anyway?"

Bruce placed his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his left palm.

"I was hoping to avoid making a scene," Bruce admitted.

"Well, there's a hope dashed," Gordon remarked as he took another sip of his drink.

Bruce eyed his own glass and, in a flash, downed it. Gordon sat surprised at the action. Bruce often ordered alcoholic beverages but he never consumed them. His charming, alcoholic womanizer facade was invented to keep the newspapers too busy to ever connect him to Batman. In reality, Bruce never participated in any substance that would hinder his concentration. It was shocking to see him down anything, even if it was just red wine.

"Bruce, I thought–" Gordon started.

"You remember when you told me that every man needs a drink at some point in life?" Bruce asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

"Yes, jokingly," Gordon recalled.

Bruce stared at his sleeve, his arm resting on the table.

"Now is one of those times."

The air around the conversation shifted. Gordon realized that as concerning as the event was, Bruce must really be going through something and that was concerning. After all, this was the man that ran around the streets in a Bat suit and if he was troubled, there was no stopping him from taking it out on criminal low lives. In addition, considering recent events, it might just be better for the bat to stay in his cave, at least for now.

"Bruce, what's going on?" Gordon insisted.

"I don't know Gordon," Bruce replied, "I can't sleep. I can't think right. I can't stop thinking about it. It follows me, everywhere I go. I'm afraid to turn on my television. I don't want to see the footage."

Bruce stared at the spill on the table his hands balled into fists.

"Yeah, but–" Gordon attempted.

"Why? Why did he do it, Gordon? Sure, my reputation's in shatters. I can't even defend myself but afterwards... He was dazed, Gordon, like he'd had an epiphany. And then, of all things, he let them take him in. It's not like him. Not like him at all."

"Yes, Bruce, but–"

"I'm not myself either and I'm finding it unsettling. Something doesn't feel right but I can't figure it out."

"Bruce!" Gordon shouted.

Bruce stopped his rambling. Gordon glared him down.

"What happened that night?" Gordon demanded, each word emphasized.

Bruce picked up the glass of water and took another drink. He then moved it in a circular motion, the water swirling about.

"He had a detonator in his mouth." Bruce began, still concentrating on the water, "My arms were too busy pinning him down and he was struggling too much to force his wrists under one hand."

Gordon nodded and silently thanked God. Bruce had been scaring Gordon with that earlier rant but now he was starting to make sense. For a minute, Gordon thought Bruce might have gotten a bit...confused.

"So I tried to get the detonator out with my tongue. Not really though. It would have been impossible. I did it to distract him, even though I had no guarantee that it would. Then again, he challenged me to it."

"Wait, he asked you to do it?" Gordon asked.

"Well, not out loud. His eyes kind of challenged me."

"His eyes! Jesus, Bruce! You're starting to sound–" Gordon didn't want to confess what Bruce sounded like, "–off."

Bruce glanced at the remainder of Gordon's whiskey and then at Gordon. The Commissioner reluctantly held out the drink to him, his coat riding up from the friction on the table. It exposed his watch, cold and leathery, much like Gordon's attitude and the skin of his hand. Gordon was not a soft man, not by any means of the word. The incident with Two Face and his family had changed him. Gordon loved his family but the rest of the world became less and less of a loving place. It was to be expected. Harvey was supposed to be the city's white knight. The bright and progressive political figure and leader for Gotham's tomorrow and he had fallen. It can make anybody lose hope, especially when that same man threatened the life of your family in front of your very eyes.

Bruce knew he couldn't really receive any sympathy from Gordon but he had to try something. He took the glass and sent the whiskey tumbling down after his wine, just in case.

"Gordon," he said as he placed the empty glass down, "I'm feeling a bit off."

Gordon leaned in, his arms crossed and resting on the table. His moustache was damp with liquor. Gordon wasn't as old as he looked but years on the police force seems to age a person. His children were still young but there were times when he felt more like a grandfather than a father. He didn't like the idea of getting old but he'd accepted it. Fighting it was like fighting the direction of the wind, it did what it wanted and it didn't give a damn what you thought about it. He wasn't a man for nonsense and what Bruce was spouting was just that, nonsense. He was almost disappointed in him. Wasn't Bruce supposed to be the analytical one? He waited until Bruce's eyes met his to speak. He needed to be put back on track.

"The Joker is a criminal," Gordon said in a hushed voice, "I don't know what he was thinking or why he set you up that way but you need to stop obsessing. He is behind bars, not headed for the electric chair as much as I'd like him to be, damn insanity plea. He doesn't matter anymore. Batman doesn't need to chase a caught man and neither do you, Bruce."

Bruce's lip tightened into a thin line, "I guess you're right."

Gordon relaxed back into his seat. He then reached for his napkin and draped it over the wet spot on the table. He looked at Bruce, his eyes heavy as stones.

"I don't want to talk about this ever again, Bruce," he closed.

Bruce felt the initial shock of the statement but he covered it up before Gordon could notice. He knew that the subject would continue to bother him. Bruce wanted answers and the more that those answers evaded him the more he sought after them. The detective in him wouldn't let this go. There was the personal aspect of it as well. Something didn't feel right with Bruce. As much of a loner as Bruce was, he would open up if the right person asked. Alfred had showed him that discussions with others occasionally brought those sought for answers. However, Alfred was dead. Gordon was his confidant and that was the closest thing Bruce had to a friend now. Gordon wasn't his friend though. Gordon was the commissioner and a respected man on the police force. As Batman they couldn't be seen together and as Bruce they had no reason to be seen together. Gordon was just a confidant and nothing more. Bruce really had no one to talk to.

"Right," Bruce agreed halfheartedly.

Gordon gave a nod of approval, glad to be rid of this ridiculous subject. He cleared his throat and gave Bruce a friendly smile.

"Now, tell me about this Wayne Enterprises technology thing," Gordon encouraged.

Bruce reached into his suit and retrieved a folded up piece of paper. He maneuvered around the spill on the table as best as he could. He was barely there as he explained the proposed system to the Commissioner.

He recalled a moment between himself and Alfred. Bruce had suddenly been stricken with grief over Rachel again after seeing a special report on her life in the paper. Whilst Bruce had been brooding, Alfred had asked his employer what the matter was to which Bruce replied that he felt alone.

"With all due respect, Master Bruce," Alfred had said, "You're an idiot."

This had, of course, gotten Bruce's attention.

"I'm not the sort of man to toot my own horn, gentlemen never are, but I feel it necessary in this situation, Master Bruce. I have been here for you your entire lifetime. I know everything about you. I press your drawers for goodness sake. Granted, I'm not as beautiful as Ms. Rachel was and I'm most certainly not your parents but I am your friend, sir. Be a bold statement as it is, I believed us to be unspoken companions for years but considering your behavior now, perhaps I was wrong."

Alfred had been a mixture of angry and heartbroken, all wrapped up quietly in his calm demeanor. Bruce knew better though, sensing bits of emotion in the corners of his mouth and the tips of his eyebrows. Alfred had also been right. It was wrong of Bruce to neglect his friendship with Alfred, even in the midst of mourning. Alfred was, in all reality, Bruce's best friend in addition to being his guardian. He owed him a lot.

"You're not alone, Master Bruce. You're never alone." Alfred had concluded, sensing Bruce's realization.

But as Bruce mindlessly explained the paper diagrams to the lightly intoxicated commissioner he began to think that he was alone. Not only did he think it, he knew.

**A/N: Poor Brucey, all alooooone! D: Also, is Joker getting himself a new disciple? Only time (and a basic knowledge of fucking Batman) will tell! On a side note, that waiter has got to be my favorite person in the world. The whole "It gets better" thing, in case you didn't know, is a campaign slogan by both gays and straights to show support for homosexuals who may be experiencing difficulties living as such. But the whole scene with him assuming Bruce is gay really just cracked me the fuck up. XD I know this is a drama, but damn, a little light humor always helps. Hope to hear more from everyone. :)**


	4. Is It Possible To?

_Encounter 137_

_Joker has been imprisoned for one month and six days now. He hasn't made any escape attempts to date. Concerned for the drastic change in character, I slipped on the Bat suit and snuck in to Arkham. The security was less efficient than I expected. If Joker intended to escape this place I'm sure he would have done it by now. It's well in his capability. After discerning the location of his cell, I had planned on waiting until the Joker was removed in order to plant a camera and bug but I was pleasantly surprised to find that he wasn't there. I questioned his absence but found it of little importance. If he had already escaped I would have known._

_Just as I finished planting the bugs, I heard footsteps from the corridor. I grappled quickly onto the ceiling and hid in the facility's beams. From above, I recognized the frame of the stranger even in such dim lighting. Joker was roaming the halls. For some reason, I felt nervous. I had no intention of confronting the Joker and yet, there he was a few feet below me. I don't why, but I didn't leave at first. I watched him._

_He looked a little leaner than he was a month ago. His hair looked washed though still the same dark green it's been for years. He seemed a little unreal, walking beneath me. Was he still the Joker? Had they been drugging him? Why was he still here? Then, of all things, he stopped. He stopped walking when he was right underneath me. I held my breath as he stood there wondering if he could see me. Before he walked back into his cell, without looking up or gesturing at all, he said one thing:_

_"I've missed you, Bats"._

Batman paused, staring into the computer screen at the last sentence. With a sigh, he ended the log. His right hand typed away on a keyboard while the left pulled and placed things along a touch screen. After he'd manually addressed all of the computer's housekeeping duties, the only way to temporarily avoid Alfred's voice without disabling it, Bruce set up the connection between the terminal and the devices planted in Joker's cell. His hand hovered above the touch screen, the computer asking the question, "display feed?" in large, bold lettering.

In all reality, both Bruce and Batman had better things to do than watch a captured criminal. It was a fruitless action. What did Batman need with a man behind bars? Batman had nights to patrol, thugs and thieves to catch, and a city to keep safe. Joker was no longer loose on the streets and hadn't been in quite some time. Commissioner Gordon had told Bruce to let go and wasn't it time to? Or was there another reason Batman wanted to keep an eye on the Joker?

Then again, Joker was the biggest threat to Gotham. The madman had a sort of cult-like claim on his people. He would stop at nothing to take hold of every last man, woman, and child and force them into his way of thinking. If the Joker had never ceased before, then he wouldn't now. No, it was a pause, time to collect resources and begin planning something devastating. Therefore, Batman had every reason to watch Joker. There was nothing ulterior about it.

With that thought in his head, Bruce accepted the incoming transmission with a sense of duty and determination. He was convinced he was doing the right and necessary thing. …Until the moment that the image came into focus.

The dark distorted the feed in to various blues and whites and there amidst the sea of it all was the Joker. Bruce wasn't exactly sure what he'd been expecting but nothing had prepared him for the scene in front of him. The Joker, the insane, violent, criminal Joker, was sleeping.

Everyone sleeps, that was obvious, but Bruce had become so accustomed to seeing Joker as an entity of madness that he'd forgotten that the Joker had to adhere to basic human needs. For the longest time, the Joker had been the enemy and no one sees their enemy as human.

Bruce recalled a conversation with Alfred that had taken place on a plane ride home once. Amongst the discussion, there was a point made of being Bruce, being human and flesh, and the desire to be a symbol. Bruce had assumed that Joker too was a symbol, like Batman.

Yet, here lied the Joker on his side; his shirtless chest rising and falling, one leg over the other, and his bare foot hanging off the edge. He hugged a pillow in his arms, his painted face nuzzling into the top of it.

How was it that the Joker could do it? Be an icon of chaos and yet, wearing the same painted mask that sparks fear into the very heart of Gotham, sleep so peacefully and vulnerably. Batman couldn't do that. There had to be Bruce, the human, and Batman, the symbol. If Batman needed sleep, he had to take off the mask and become Bruce. Joker needed no spare identities. Joker was his identity.

Bruce stared at the Joker. The Joker shifted his face a little, exposing his slightly open mouth. Healing scars and light bruises covered his naked arms. His hands took the shape of relaxed fists as they embraced the pillow in front of him.

It felt almost unnatural to see the Joker this way but Bruce couldn't take his eyes off him. He felt as if he was being exposed to something he shouldn't and that alone makes a person pay attention. Bruce debated turning off the feed, his index finger making a slow pilgrimage for the escape key.

Joker suddenly winced and his fingers dug into his pillow companion. His face twisted into something that resembled pain but coupled with an air of sorrow. In a flash, Bruce stood up and got closer to the screen.

_Is he all right?_

With the intensity of his stare at the image, Bruce noticed his reflection. His brow was furrowed, his mouth in a barely there frown. His face was a combination of confusion and worry. Before Bruce could react to himself, Joker's entire body tightened which captured Bruce's attention.

If Bruce had ever pictured the Joker sleeping, which he hadn't, Joker would have had spasms and ranted in his slumber, a true madman's sleep. He wouldn't look like this. Like an abused child, clutching a pillow, eyes creased shut, body tensed...trying to hide from the pain.

"Wake up..." Bruce pleaded, his hands gripping the keyboard and his body rigid with stress, "God damn it! Just wake up!" he yelled.

As if hearing him, Joker relaxed slowly. Bruce found himself awestruck by the scene. Joker's arms progressed from an iron grip to the former hug, the tension in his retracted legs released, and, at last, his eyelids unclenched. The nightmare had passed and Joker resumed cuddling with some imaginary partner in peaceful slumber.

Bruce let out a sigh of relief before realizing his behavior. His face had become blushed, beads of sweat lining his forehead. His heart was still racing despite the crisis being over.

_I can't see him like this_, he thought as he focused in on his own reflection.

It was wrong to watch an enemy, or anyone, in such a state. It was too...intimate. With a sense of guilt, Bruce exited the transmission screen, hitting the buttons a bit too hard. His fingers felt particularly ungraceful and panicked as he shut the terminal down.

"Oh, God," Bruce groaned as he dropped his head, "What's wrong with me?"

As Bruce spiraled into a pit of self-doubt and questioning, Doctor Quinzel began a less dark self-examination. She was in her office late that night, again. Her co-workers were sure she'd been scrambling together some sort of tome on her infamous patient and to the inattentive eye it seemed she'd been doing just that. She was always at work, always writing something down and fiercely defensive of the notes. If she wasn't scribbling in a notebook then she was off chatting up the Joker. Everyone assumed that she'd become a workaholic.

Work was merely an excuse. Her highly protected annotations were really her own musings; Musings that lacked facts and useful information. Granted, references were made to their conversations, but Harley spoke more about herself in them than the Joker. In her notes, Joker wasn't a patient but a friend, and one that she held very dearly.

Dr. Quinzel sat at her desk, gazing at a rose inside the top left drawer. The rose was a pathetic specimen. It had been torn straight out of the ground, bits of root and dirt hanging on the bottom. The blossom itself was worn, petals missing and others tattered. The flower was too dark to be healthy and the light stench of wet mold polluted its fragrance. Nonetheless, the doctor was entranced by the small gift of flora. No one had ever given her flowers before.

In the midst of her enchantment, she reached out and picked up the rose. The soft flesh of her fingers was pricked by the thorny stem but the pain never seemed to reach her.

_He's really not as bad as everyone says he is_, she thought.

The discovery of the rose had surprised her earlier that day. She had just arrived at the office and pulled open the drawer to store her purse and low and behold there sat the rose. Dr. Larynx happened to be making a round in her office when she had found the flower. Fortunately, his sight had been impaired for years and he couldn't tell what the object in the drawer was. Dr. Quinzel quickly shut the drawer. Dr. Larynx, a grumpy old man, snorted and chalked up the odd behavior to Dr. Quinzel seeing a bug.

Of course, Dr. Quinzel's first thoughts were about the origin of the rose. Where had it come from? How had it gotten there? Who had done it? She quickly ran through a mental registry of potential culprits, namely her co-workers. However, none of them would ever commit such an act. Nobody liked her. That thought made her a bit upset. Frustrated, she pulled open the drawer with the intention of throwing the ugly rose away until she noticed something.

As it turned out, something was under the rose. She pushed blossom over with her index finger and beneath it was a small black eyed, red lipped smiley face painted onto the bottom of the drawer. It was Joker's mark.

The idea didn't settle in at first. It lingered about in her head for the entire day. As unresponsive as she was to her fellow staff, her distance from them had increased tenfold that day. She just couldn't believe it. He'd given her a rose. That crazy son of a bitch gave her a rose.

They'd been chatting for weeks now, once a day every day. Joker revealed nothing about himself, but Dr. Quinzel had come to the conclusion that it was because the poor soul couldn't. She'd tried everything; psycho-analysis, hypnotism, but not drugs. Joker insisted to the doctor that drugs were never the answer and with a pleading look he'd won her over.

So, instead of unearthing Joker's innermost secrets, they focused on the present. Joker told her grand stories about his epic rivalry with Batman. It was all he talked about in those first few days but Dr. Quinzel didn't mind. The way Joker described these encounters made them sound like something out of a story book. There was a sense of glamour to them. As the weeks passed though, she found herself talking more and more about her own life. Joker seemed just as enthralled by her stories of normalcy as she had been by his tales of grandeur. He pushed her into talking about herself.

As Dr. Quinzel caressed the rose with her forefinger, it occurred to her that he'd been roaming the grounds. After all, how else would he have been able to deliver such a gift? The scary thing was that she didn't find it alarming. She assumed that he wouldn't cause any mischief if he was comfortable and he had made the impression to her that he was comfortable. Besides, if there'd been any question about how dangerous he was, he'd answered them by the gesture of the rose.

_I think I'll go thank him_, she thought as she stood from her desk.

Cupping the blossom in her hands she began to make her way down the corridor and excitement welled in her heart as euphoria carried off her head. Joker was a good guy, deep down. He was just misunderstood as far as she was concerned. He needed a little care, a little listening... a little love.

Just as the word came to Dr. Quinzel, a nurse turned the corner. Embarrassed, she hid the rose behind her back and waved an awkward hello to the approaching nurse.

_What am I doing?_

Harley thought as the nurse came closer. _A patient's walking free in the halls and breaking into rooms and I'm going to thank him?_

As the nurse passed Dr. Quinzel, it suddenly occurred to her that she didn't recognize the woman.

"Hey, uh" Dr. Quinzel called after her, "Did you just start here? I'm afraid I haven't seen you before."

The nurse didn't stop but continued around the corner. Dr. Quinzel, too curious for her own good, went after her.

"Wait!" she shouted, "Where are you going?"

As the doctor turned the corner the nurse broke out into a full run. Dr. Quinzel paused, not quite believing the sight.

_"The world's a crazy fucked up place, Harley," _she remembered the Joker saying once, _"But that's the way it should be. Madness should be embraced whenever it can be. I mean, Alice didn't have any fun until after she went down the rabbit hole, right?"_

Dr. Quinzel dropped the rose into her large, white coat pocket and took off after the nurse in full speed.

When Dr. Quinzel was very young, she had been an aspiring gymnast. She was obsessed, training until she collapsed of exhaustion. She would push herself so much so that she'd broken and fractured bones on several occasions. She'd become the top of her class in no time much to the resentment of her peers. The other girls, jealous, began to torture the young Harley. They'd do things like grease the bars and hide stickers in her leotards. At one point, another girl had a fight with Harley on a beam and when they fell off, she pulled out Harley's hair. Harley's left pigtails had a chunk missing and blood appeared in place of missing bits of flesh. Harley quit gymnastics herself the next day after her parents complained once again for the hospital bills her hobby was costing them. No one had come to her rescue.

Despite the teasing and torture, Harley secretly practiced her gymnastics. In high school, she'd become a track runner for the sole purpose of having access to a gym where she could practice freely. It turned out that she was a talented runner as well as a gymnast. Being so athletic came at a price though. She was commonly called a lesbian and ridiculed for it. Harley had a rough childhood, stained by the torture of her peers and highlighted by the neglect of her parents.

But it didn't stop her from being able to run after that nurse. Having stayed in shape all her life, Harley caught up to the fleeing woman and with a powerful jump, tackled her.

"Why are you running?" Dr. Quinzel growled as she pinned the nurse.

At a closer look, the nurse didn't seem to be a woman. The forearms were too hairy, the build too masculine–although lean–and her hair was...green. The doctor's grip relaxed as her jaw dropped.

"Mr. J?" she asked.

Joker laughed as he flipped Dr. Quinzel over. Joker may have been lean but Dr. Quinzel was even smaller. Her body thudded against the floor with the impact.

"You are a vision, Harley!" he clapped as he stood up, "All that power in such a little body. I'm surprised!"

Dr. Quinzel sat, awestruck at the Joker in drag. The frumpy nurse's uniform dropped down to his knees, exposing his unshaved calves. He pulled the surgical mask off his face, revealing a fresh paint job of his usual makeup. The nurse's cap had been knocked off during the tussle and Joker retrieved it, righted it on his head, and then shifted it off center. Dr. Quinzel, confused, scrambled to sit up against the wall, her knees against her torso.

"I have to admit; out of all the time I've spent with you that back there had to be the most exciting." Joker giggled, "You're really something aren't you?"

He bent down to her and offered his hand to help her up. She looked at it with hesitation.

"Why did you run?" she asked.

Joker grabbed her hand instead and with a tug forced her up.

"I was hoping," he said, his tongue popping out and darting across his lip, "you'd chase the white rabbit."

Dr. Quinzel gasped lightly, shocked that he'd known that she'd done just that. Her eyes looked to his face and then descended to the contact they were making. His hand felt callused but warm. Dr. Quinzel felt her heart flutter in her chest. She was touching him. He was right in front of her. There wasn't any glass in the way anymore. He was real, tangible.

The Joker looked her over. She really had impressed him. She had such physical prowess hidden beneath that frumpy clothing. She was more than a potential pretty face. She had abilities. She'd outrun him. Even Batsy couldn't do that.

_Batman_

... Joker remembered.

Joker dropped Dr. Quinzel's hand. He happened to look into her pocket and see the rose he'd picked for her. Joker didn't like goodbyes and hadn't intended to give her one. He knew that if he left her a gift then he'd leave an impact on her. He wasn't really concerned with what she went on to do from there on. Joker had his fill of the woman and believed that he had pushed her to a point where leaving would convert her to his ways. If not, he'd see her soon enough and finish his work then. At that moment though, Joker was on a mission. He had to see the Bat.

"I see you got my little parting gift, "Joker grinned.

Dr. Quinzel's eyes went wide and her fluttering heart dropped into her stomach.

"You– you can't leave!" she shouted out of shock.

Joker cackled, "I know that you know that I'll be back. Besides, I've got a date with the Bat."

He turned around abruptly and took his time as he hobbled awkwardly in his skirt. Dr. Quinzel watched him with tears welling in her eyes.

_A date...?_

Dr. Quinzel finally analyzed something about the Joker. With anger, she set aside her feelings and a list of facts came together. Joker always talked about Batman. Every one of his schemes was to get Batman's attention. And of course–

"–that kiss!" Dr. Quinzel shouted at the Joker.

Joker halted. Not so much out of the shock from the statement but that it'd come from her. She'd never mentioned it before. He was sure she'd been avoiding it, too lost in the world they'd built together during their discussions.

"What did it mean?" she began to cry.

Harley didn't want to admit it to herself. She didn't want him to say it but the facts were there. They'd been staring her in the face the entire time but she refused to acknowledge them. She was too enchanted by him. He was so powerful and free. Harley wanted that. Harley wanted him.

Joker spun around on his heel. He pushed her roughly against the wall, pinning her at the wrists. His eyes looked wild. Harley's bottom lip trembled as he glared into her. His left hand slid down her forearm, leaving her skin a tint of red from the pressure. He then slapped her across the face. A small cry escaped her lips as the smack settled into her blushed cheek.

"Crying," he said, grabbing her arm again and holding it in place, "-does not suit you."

The slap had been loud, almost thunderous, against her. The tears had scattered from her face and in their place laid the Joker's red hand print. As she stood there pinned by the Joker, she was unable to form a thought.

Joker took some relief in hitting his psychiatrist. He hadn't fought in weeks and the lack of physicality was killing him. There was a sting on his palm and he let the feeling radiate, his tongue poked out and retracted in pleasure.

Harley was frozen in place and Joker released her arm. His hand was gentler as it found its way to her jaw. He turned her face towards him. Since she'd been brave enough to ask, he was going to answer her.

"I like to mess around with Batman's head," Joker began, stroking her face, "You see… he's the opposing force of my life. Human beings need opposition to exist and to some degree or another, I'm human. Maybe even more than you or anybody else. The Bat inspires me to keep doing what I'm doing and that inspires him to chase me. We need each other like that. If I stay here, I'll stop existing. You don't want that, right?"

Harley gazed at the dark clown before her. He was beautiful in his own right, dangerous and different. She didn't want him to stop existing. She wanted him to live on. Besides, he needed to tell the world like it was. All the time Joker spent explaining his view on the world Dr. Quinzel knew he was right. She didn't want to admit her approval but it was there. Mankind was chaos. Society was bull shit. She'd played by the rules all her life and for what? Shit. Playing by the rules had made her life shit and the people in it treated her like shit.

Joker didn't treat her that way. He listened to her. He talked to her. He didn't tease or taunt her. He gave her presents. He gave her flowers. At the same time, he'd slapped sense into her. He'd made her see the truth she'd been ignoring.

She nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

"But, what the hell, I'll stay another day!" he exclaimed on impulse.

Harley's eyes shot to the Joker's face, his smile greeting her. She giggled which in turn made the Joker giggle. Together they exploded into inexplicable laughter. Harley had never felt so relieved and happy. She chuckled and guffawed until it started to hurt and even then she kept laughing.

"There's a good girl," Joker noted, patting her on the head.

Harley looked up at the Joker, her face red from so much laughter. Her cheeks and stomach ached. Tears had wrestled their way out. She calmed down but the heat from it all lingered on her.

_God, it feels good_, she thought, _it feels so fucking good to laugh like that._

The Joker paused for a moment and took her in again. She got the joke. Of all the people in the world and this broken woman had gotten the joke. Joker felt like celebrating and on a whim, grabbed her head. He hesitated after, not sure what he wanted to do with it. He could smash it in but instead he planted a quick and harsh kiss on her forehead. He turned around, not thinking much of it, and began to exit.

Harley, once again shocked and pleased by the Joker, stood frozen. Joker had taken a few steps away, heading back to his cell, when Harley broke. It went against everything she'd ever been told, everything she'd ever learned, to do what she was about to do. It not only violated her position as a doctor but contradicted her life lessons. He was highly intelligent, funny, and in need. He made her feel alive. She'd never felt like that up until that point and the feeling overtook her.

"I love you, Mr. J!" she shouted, her accent unnaturally heavy, "You're not crazy and I love you!"

The Joker was un-fazed and continued his walk. He shrugged his shoulders as a response, not turning around. Harley was hanging on the edge, waiting for him to say something.

"I like you Harley." Joker replied before turning the corner, "You take good care of me."

Harley felt as if her heart was going to explode as it danced around in her chest. The Joker liked her. He really liked her. She fetched the rose out of her pocket. As she sniffed its muddled perfume, the thorns once again delivered tiny wounds to her soft flesh.

Harley felt like she'd been wasting too much time. Yes, according to the world, her feelings were inappropriate and unprofessional, but she no longer cared. In fact, she hated society for making her feel like her love for the Joker was wrong. She would stay at Arkham, just to spite her colleagues and continue her romance with the Joker. Besides, he said she took good care of him. She had to be there when he got back. She wanted to be there.

Meanwhile, Bruce had fallen asleep in the Batcave. He groaned as he began to wake up. His head pounded as he sat himself up. As he wiped at his eye with his knuckle, he noticed an odd fog had taken over the Batcave. Swirling blue clouds misted over the floor and the distance.

"Good evening, Master Bruce," said a voice.

Bruce looked up at the terminal; sure he'd turned it off. He approached the keys with hesitance.

"No need for that, sir," said the voice.

A figure appeared in the mist. It began to focus slowly, first an outline then blurred features. Bruce could feel adrenaline coursing through his vines as it came closer. He had the fear that only seeing a dead man could instill running through him.

Alfred emerged from the fog.

"You're dreaming, Master Bruce." Alfred clarified. "Or is the lair always filled with such ridiculous mist?"

Bruce still couldn't get over seeing Alfred. He looked a bit younger than he remembered him though still much older than Bruce. The last time Bruce saw his butler, he'd been sick and frail. Here, Alfred was a healthy, refined man in his crisp and clean uniform.

"Well, surely you didn't want to picture me as a dying man," Alfred said, reading Bruce's thoughts.

_So I am dreaming then_, Bruce thought as he relaxed a bit into his chair.

Bruce was uncertain as to why he was dreaming up Alfred. Bruce often didn't recall dreams. He was usually plagued by nightmares as it was his damaged psyche's attempt to catch up with him. He had a feeling though, that he would remember this one. It was important somehow.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked, suspicious of the imaginary butler.

Alfred seemed fixed into place as he often seemed so in life. He stood patiently a few feet from Bruce, still over respecting personal space. It was other worldly to see him there and Bruce still had trouble accepting it.

"It's not what I want, Master Bruce," Alfred spoke, "It's what you want. I've been watching you for quite some time, sir, and I must say I've been disappointed."

The statement forced a sharp pain into Bruce's heart. He wanted to ask Alfred why but he found himself unable to form a sentence. Disappointment, he'd caused Alfred to be disappointed. Alfred raised his eyebrows at Bruce questioningly.

"You're a grown man, Bruce," Alfred began, breaking his usual formality, "I can understand that this mishap with the Joker can be quite confusing but you've allowed it to take over your life."

Bruce felt embarrassed, his cheeks turning a soft pink. Alfred smiled at him, somewhat amused by a blushing Bruce.

"Sir," Alfred said, taking a step towards Bruce, "Somehow or another, things have changed. The only way to get the answers you seek is to speak with the Joker himself. I warn you though, Bruce, if you take this path it'll only get more complicated, as I'm sure you've come to predict."

Alfred was absolutely right. Spying on the Joker hadn't revealed anything to Bruce other than that the Joker was more complicated than he'd assumed. It was also unhealthy for Bruce to constantly question Joker's intentions. It was time that he got some answers and at the very least, a little revenge. Despite the awkward feeling Bruce had been experiencing, he was still angry that Batman's reputation had been trashed. It made life as a crime fighter much more difficult for Batman.

"I see you've made up your mind then," Alfred acknowledged.

Alfred didn't move but Bruce sensed that he had to leave. Now Bruce understood why he dreamt Alfred up. He needed somebody to talk to and who better than his old friend? Bruce wasn't the kind of man who cried, no matter how much he wanted to, but in the midst of his deceased companion one tear managed to find freedom. It slid down the side of Bruce's cheek, then down his jaw line. It lingered on his chin for a moment before releasing itself and landing on Bruce's chest right above his heart.

"I miss you, Alfred," he said, his eyes lingering on the tear stain.

"I know, Master Bruce," Alfred replied.

Alfred smiled at him. It reminded Bruce of the way Alfred was with him when he was a child. Alfred never dared to be too affectionate to Bruce, wanting to respect the place of his passed away parents, but there was always a smile. It was Alfred's way of telling the young boy that he loved him. He didn't quite smile like that when Bruce was older but then again, Bruce wasn't a child then. Alfred had gone from guardian to companion somewhere in those years.

Bruce stood up from his chair. His hands shook as he approached Alfred. Alfred didn't move or speak. Bruce could feel himself on the verge of breaking down but he fought with each step he took towards Alfred.

Bruce and Alfred appeared to have a strictly professional relationship. They never ate together or traveled together. Alfred had been very intent on his position as a butler. Bruce respected and appreciated it. He didn't think he could handle it if Alfred attempted to act like a father but Bruce knew, deep down, that he was. Alfred had taught him how to ride a bike, how to tie a tie, how to drive. Alfred had advised Bruce on nearly every event in his life. He supported him when he was down, when he was out, and when he was Batman. He went above and beyond the call of duty and he was a good man.

Bruce did love his parents as a child but he never really knew them. He knew Alfred. He knew that Alfred was particular and sarcastic. He knew that Alfred liked everything in its place. He knew that Alfred was a man of integrity and that when he could have abandoned the orphaned child of his employer, he didn't. He knew that he could have used young Bruce to get to his fortune, but he didn't. He knew that he didn't have to love a dark and lonely little boy, but he did.

Bruce stood a few inches from Alfred. Alfred looked at him with that same smile he remembered from his childhood. That mixture of pride, understanding, and love nudged at Bruce's heart.

Bruce and Alfred never really made physical contact with the exception of the occasional hand on the shoulder. It was only when Alfred laid on his deathbed that Bruce ever reached out to him. Alfred had slipped into sleep and Bruce, sensing that he'd pass soon took the old man's hand into his own. He cradled the wrinkled and spotted hand of Alfred's in between his own as Alfred's breath attempted to stay steady. Before he'd fallen asleep, Alfred had said one thing to Bruce:

"Thank you for staying with me."

As Bruce held Alfred's hand, he fought tears. Alfred took in one last shallow breath and when he let it out, his spirit went with it. His hand went limp in Bruce's palms. Alfred had stopped fighting and had finally let go. Bruce too stopped fighting and for the first time since he was a boy, he cried.

"Alfred?" Bruce said shakily, "Thank you for staying with me."

He threw his arms around Alfred to embrace him but the moment they made contact Alfred disappeared. Bruce was shocked as his arms encompassed nothing but blue fog. Alfred was gone.

Bruce woke up with a jolt. His breathing was heavy as his heart pumped away in his chest. He glanced at the clock on the Batcave's computer. It was nearly five o'clock in the morning. Bruce rubbed his face with hands twice before letting them fall onto the keyboard.

_It was only a dream_, Bruce, he told himself as he got up and made way to his bed, _just a dream._


	5. I Think I Wrote It Blind

**A/N: I apologize for not having an author note in the last chapter. Believe it or not, that last bit with Alfred and Bruce was a bit much for me to write and I guess I sort of forgot. At any rate, I wanted to say that I love and adore all the nice reviews I've been getting lately. It really encourages me to continue working on this fanfic. I hope you guys like this chapter. It's going to get a little...interesting ...but not sexually. XD That will come in due time, dear pervert children, all in due time.**

_Don't take off my paint._

_Don't take off my skin_

_I'm too human._

_Too human to hurt._

_Too human to cry._

_I need my face._

_You need your face._

_Mine is me,_

_all I know._

_Yours is spare_

_but feels like home._

_I can't see you naked._

_Don't look at me._

_Don't look at me._

_Look at your world._

_Paint and latex._

_I made it for you._

_Don't look at me._

_Don't take off my skin._

_Don't take off my paint._

The free form poem slipped from under Joker's fingers. It sailed along invisible air waves, dancing until it landed on the floor. Joker's index finger rested on the now bare wall. Writing on paper was a pleasure in those days but Joker took no pride in his work. The dying ball point pen was poised in his left hand, as if expectant of more words despite his thoughts being trapped in his skull.

Joker had woken up from a dream not more than a few minutes ago. Joker dreamt about many things; alternating pasts, the future, his plans. There'd been many a night when the Joker was off in blissful slumber and submerged in the chaotic world he desired. The night before had been different though.

After his conversation with Harley and heading back to his room, Joker had undressed again and returned to bed. For a man so obsessed with obscuring his face he was surprisingly comfortable with the rest of his body. He had stripped down to nothing but his crimson red uniform pants. Other articles of clothing were haphazardly strewn across the small cell, much to Joker's subconscious delight. He flopped onto his single sized bed. Lying on his stomach with his clean cotton issued pillow under his right arm, he stared into the parallel wall until he slipped into a quiet madness and then sleep.

The dream had started as many others had, Joker in a fight with Batman. It was a fight he was reliving; the one in the sewers. Joker laughed and cackled away as Batman angrily tussled with him. Batman had grabbed Joker's arms and forced him down but when Joker hit the floor a change of scenery occurred.

No longer were they in the stinking bowels of Gotham's underbelly but the rooftop of their last encounter. The wind hummed quietly, absent of any helicopters or people. The night's smog had mysteriously vanished and in its place were stars. Joker wasn't even sure he'd seen a starry sky before but he'd pictured it with exaggerated wonder, more star than sky. Constellations cluttered the usual black. One appeared to be a dying man, and another a blazing fire.

Batman's cape fluttered in the wind, twirling and spinning in complex, slow patterns. The cape seemed to act like a dancing curtain, revealing and hiding stars from the Joker. Suddenly, Joker's constellations began to blur into new shapes. Star composed little bats and smiling faces took the places of the previous disturbing images. Joker tracked each constellation, his expression locked in absolute wonder, until Joker ran out of sky and star. He found that his gaze had settled back on the Bat.

Batman had been watching Joker, his icy blues fascinated by the awe that had been in Joker's eyes. Joker felt no hint of embarrassment at being caught. Instead, he returned Batman's look of fascination.

"What?" Joker asked with a coy grin, "Stars are pretty, Batsy, aren't they?"

A smile played at the corner of Batman's lip. It was a shy smile and it somehow made Joker uneasy.

The shadows casted across Batman made him seem darker somehow. His eyes and jaw made a sharp contrast. The Bat's mouth was soft and pink against his pale skin. Joker's fingers twitched with the desire to touch Batman. He wondered what it felt like, the skin beneath the mask.

As if on command, Batman removed his hands from the Joker's wrists. His eyes never left the Joker's as he pulled at one of his gloves. The noise of its material was muted as he slid it off and dropped it to the side. Joker could hear nothing but the sound of his own breathing. It was steady but somewhat heavy as Batman's naked hand went to greet the Joker's.

Joker felt adrenaline shoot through his body as Batman's hand touched his own. It was wrong, so deliciously wrong for a bare Batman to touch him. His hand was soft and cool. Joker could feel his breath become shallow, the experience overtaking him. Joker usually followed his impulses but the Bat had beaten him to it. Batman's fingers laced themselves with the Joker's aching ones. The clean and surprisingly gentle hand of Batman made contact with the Joker's dirty and callused digits.

Batman leaned into Joker, his eyes still intent on locating the Joker's soul. Joker was torn between reactions; whether to laugh and say he had no soul...or to admit that he sometimes dreamt he did. The first felt like the natural reaction but the second felt like something else... as if it would push something inside the Joker over a psychological edge.

Batman came closer and closer to the Joker, their torso's lining up against one another. Batman paused, his lips barely caressing Joker's. Joker could smell him. The perfume of rubber and smoke wafted towards Joker. The smell was familiar and he breathed it in. Intoxicated, his arms ascended and gravitated towards Batman's body. They wrapped around his torso. Joker drenched his senses in the smell of the Bat, taking comfort in its familiarity.

Out of habit, Joker's tongue emerged from his mouth and as it did, it skidded across Batman's bottom lip. It tasted salty as his tongue returned to its domain. Much to Joker's amusement, Batman backed away in response but Joker's arms had locked each other in an iron grip around him. They catapulted and fell backward managing to land themselves with Joker sitting on Batman's lap, his legs around him. Batman grabbed Joker by the lapels and brought the Joker closer to his face. Their noses pressed against one another. The normal expression of anger was on Batman's face and Joker sighed, glad to see the furious Bat, until the expression shifted into wonder once more. Batman's hand traveled from the lapel and to Joker's face. He cupped the other man's chin and stared at his lips. Joker watched him, hesitant at the development. What was he doing? This wasn't their protocol. This wasn't Batman. Good God, who was this stranger he was straddling?

Batman let go of Joker's face and slowly made way to the bottom of his mask as if to answer the Joker's thoughts. Joker could feel himself panic. Panic was a new emotion for him but it was distilled by the slightest hint of excitement. Batman couldn't and wouldn't do what he was doing, yet it was happening. The Bat tugged aggressively at his rubber mask with one hand until it tore. The tear of the rubber seemed cataclysmic and Joker held his breath.

Batman had broken his self-made rule. The rule Joker expected Batman to never disregard. This should have meant chaos, Batman revealing himself, but it didn't. Batman's face was exposed, his lips, his nose, and his left eye. Everything changed. This wasn't the Bat Joker knew and loved. It was the man behind the Bat. The man Joker never knew.

Batman took hold of Joker's arm, unlocking Joker's previous grip on him with ease. He pushed it towards the Joker until Joker's hand was in front of him, instead of behind Batman in embrace. Batman grabbed Joker's wrist and led the hand to his exposed flesh.

Joker felt his heart stop. The stranger's skin was cool to the touch much like his hand had been but it was warm towards the cheek. His flesh was soft but taut. The Bat was flesh and blood underneath the dark armor after all. He felt, appeared, and even smelled human. Batman moved his head slightly, the Joker's hand sliding over his shadowing facial hair, another affirmation of his humanity.

Joker recoiled from him. Joker's hand had left smudges all over the man's face. Joker scrambled to move away but Batman threw his arms around him. Joker pushed at the stranger's confining shoulders, struggling to free himself but finding it futile.

Where was the predicted madness? Hadn't Batman broken the rule? Granted, Joker assumed Batman would sooner break his rule of not killing his enemies than the one about exposing himself. Something wasn't right here. It was a different world they were in. A world where rules truly didn't matter, whether they existed or not. Joker should have been overjoyed at the occurrence of something so raw and human but he wasn't. This wasn't the primal and violent humanity he was used to at all. If this was a world that made Batman human then what did that make humanity? What did it make Joker?

Batman allowed them to distance from one another enough to look at each other. He smiled at the squirming Joker as he held him by the shoulders.

_You're not real! I don't want you to be real!_ Joker shouted, the words merely bouncing around the inside of his skull.

Batman grimaced, able to hear Joker's thoughts. He once again brought Joker's hand to his face as if to show that he was real. Joker frowned at this but the man behind the mask ignored it as he dug his face into the Joker's grime.

In the middle of embracing the dirt and grime of Joker's palm, Batman came to an abrupt halt. He stared at the Joker intensely and before Joker knew what he was doing, Batman went to wipe away at Joker's face with his gloved hand. Joker pushed the man away and brought his hands up to his face. He let out a territorial growl and kicked Batman in the stomach.

Batman held his abdomen in pain before glaring at the Joker. Joker could feel his blood pump away, expecting a fight. His heart beat throbbed in his chest, _needing_ a fight. Batman jumped up and in a flash, grabbed Joker once more.

_Yeah, that's right. Come at me, Batsy!_

Batman formed a fist and as he swung it, Joker relaxed. This was what he wanted. This dynamic that he knew was all he ever wanted but the predicted landing of the punch, much to his surprise, never came. Batman held the fist a few inches from Joker's face. Joker, bewildered, stared at the fist.

"Well!" Joker shouted, "Hit me! Come on! Hit me!"

Batman kissed Joker. It wasn't like the one on the rooftop, passionate and violent. It was quick and tender. It had been a peck on the lips, shockingly sweet and–simple. It was a sensation Joker never had experienced until that point. Without thinking, Joker's eyes fluttered to a close and he leaned in for more. It felt wrong but it felt right. It was as if this world Joker created was one in which he'd become a little human himself. Joker never cared for affection but perhaps that's what he'd interpreted Batman's hits to be. The kiss had hurt in its own way much like his punches but in a way it'd felt good.

Batman pulled back and Joker opened his eyes. The unmasked man stared at Joker's makeup with a frown. Joker couldn't help himself anymore. He didn't care how off it was. He wanted more. He wanted anything, everything. He was the kind of man who dived into things head first and he would do anything this stranger asked him to as long as he let Joker kiss him. As long as he showed him more of this world they were in; a world where nobody needed a mask.

Joker nodded once, shyly dropping eye contact and awkwardly lifting his chin up and out as an offering. Joker didn't know who he was under the makeup. It'd been a long time since he looked and even then something had prevented him from remembering his identity. Batman smiled, pleased to have the Joker's cooperation, and took his gloved hand to the Joker's face. Joker winced as he rubbed away. It wasn't that Batman was physically hurting him but that Joker wasn't quite comfortable with someone else removing his painted grin. It was painful; the idea of stripping away his only known identity but it could be worth it if the man beneath the Bat would give him more. As he rubbed the makeup away, Batman's face became more and more confused. It felt like an eternity as the Bat dug into Joker, searching for Joker's true self.

Suddenly, Batman dropped Joker and backed away. A look of horror was plastered on his face. His eyes were huge with disbelief. Joker took steps towards him and the Bat took several more away until they ended up with Batman against the rooftop edge.

In desperation, Batman turned and jumped off the building. His black cape was stretched over his shoulders and arms as he glided into the distance. The smog had returned, consuming the stars in the process. Joker watched Batman until he faded into the black. What had he done wrong?

Joker, confused, slumped towards the exit. He stopped when he got to the door. He looked at the glass and as he did, his reflection appeared. He peered into it, wondering what had scared the almighty Bat. As the flaw came into focus, Joker jumped.

Half of Joker's face was covered in his usual makeup but the side where Batman had rubbed the cosmetics away had revealed not flesh, but bone. Joker reached up to his face and touched his own cheekbone, mystified.

Reality sunk in and Joker angrily punched the door. The entire scenery shattered into millions of pieces. Joker stood amongst them in an eternal white abyss. The parallel world was broken scattered across some unmarked floor. He wasn't real here and he knew it. He wasn't too real in the conscious world either and he knew that as well.

_But what do they know of real?_

Joker had woken up after that thought and furiously penned his masterpiece. The poem now laid in his hands again as he sat on his too firm, and too clean bed. His tongue danced around his lips as he stared at the page. The letters began to blur and swirl around one another in his concentration.

There was a tap on the glass and Joker quickly redirected his attention by crumpling the page and tossing it behind him.

"Hello officer!" Joker said excitedly at the responsible security official.

"You've got a visitor, Joker," he said curtly before opening the door and cuffing Joker's hands behind his back.

The Joker cooed at the feeling of the cold, metal cuffs on his wrists.

"A bit tighter, officer? I like it when they leave marks." Joker purred.

The officer pushed Joker along and Joker sighed.

_Have I really been away from Batsy so long that I have to resort to this? Playing games with the asylum security?_

The officer led Joker to the prisoner/visitor conference room. Before closing the door, Joker popped his head back out.

"Who's visiting me anyway? I'm just curious. After all, it's not like I've got any friends or family to stop by and say hello." Joker asked.

The officer grunted as he pushed Joker back in the door.

"Some rich guy thinking about donating to this dump. He thinks you're the prized nut of the loony bin or something."

"Well we can't all be the prized pig of the loony bin now can we?" Joker replied, his nod gesturing to the officer's protruding gut.

The officer glared at him and slammed the door on Joker's nose. Joker wrinkled it in reaction.

_He didn't break it. How disappointing._

Joker lowered his handcuffed wrists and lifted his leg, contorting so he could step over them. He repeated with his other leg. Content with his arms now at his disposal he walked to the chair and had a seat, interested in his wealthy visitor.

To his surprise, it was not a rich man that sat in front of him but the head of doctoral staff, Dr. Larynx, standing in his view, waving his hands frantically. Unable to make sense of the whispered conversation, Joker leaned forward, trying to see who the doctor was warding off but the gray, metallic divides of the booth obstructed his view. A strong arm suddenly appeared and rested on Dr. Larynx's shoulder. The doctor sighed and allowed the visitor to pass before exiting.

An attractive man came into view. He smiled as he sat down in front of the Joker. Joker raised an eyebrow at the stranger. He seemed familiar in a way but Joker couldn't place it.

"Hello, Joker," he said charmingly, "My name is Bruce, Bruce Wayne."

Joker examined Bruce Wayne. He was an attractive man, sharply dressed and apparently rich. He'd heard about him before. Even mad men read newspapers from time to time. Still Joker was not impressed.

"I'm not familiar," Joker lied, his tongue flickering out for a moment.

Under the metallic counter Bruce's fist clenched. He wondered if Joker was really that sheltered by his insanity or if he was just being rude. He shrugged it off.

"I guess that's a good thing. I don't imagine people you know end up in a very good place," Bruce laughed.

"Neither do people I don't know. A kill a good hundred innocents in a week, a day if I'm in a good mood," Joker retorted.

Joker waited for the usual look of fright or disgust but Bruce displayed no fear. Instead, the strange billionaire smiled.

"I wished some of my researchers were as dedicated as you then! God knows we could use the progress."

Bruce could sense Joker's interest rising. He was used to people fearing him and Bruce had no intention of backing down. True, Bruce was nervous to sit in front of the Joker. Being around Joker unmasked was possibly one of the riskiest things Bruce had ever done. It was highly illogical as well. Still, Bruce was already here and the time frame to think better of the advice from his dream had come and gone.

"I'm not the kind of man you can sweet talk, Bruce–I can call you that right?" Joker began.

"Of course, I prefer that."

"Anyway, you can't do it. You can't be friends with me. It doesn't matter how rich or attractive you are." Joker continued.

Bruce felt himself blush at the word attractive. It was already bad enough that he felt naked around him without the mask. Hearing Joker call him attractive made it a little worse. Was it necessary for the Joker to make Bruce feel awkward even when he wasn't Batman?

"That shallow, materialistic sort of thing doesn't really impress a man like me." Joker finished.

Bruce felt a little irritated now. As Batman, he was Joker's equal. As Bruce, he'd been demoted.

"What does impress you?" Bruce asked a little more seriously.

Joker placed his elbows on the counter and cupped his face.

"A body count and the right philosophy," Joker sighed, "Potential, if you will. I'm sure you won't though. You have the potential of power but that's it and I've got my heart set on a slow, bloody revolution."

"You're a sick man," Bruce said.

"I never get tired of hearing that. I like the conviction in your voice though. It's a nice change from the usual shock," Joker noted.

Bruce felt his fingers twitch with the desire to strangle the Joker. He didn't like the charade he was playing but he knew it was necessary. As Batman, he could just shove Joker against a wall and beat answers out of him. He might not get all of them but it would certainly be more progress than Bruce had made. It was more satisfying too.

Joker felt his irritation hit the boiling point as the billionaire judged and glared at him. Nobody was allowed to look at him that way. Only Batman was given the right to deliver such a stony and unforgiving stare. This Bruce person was just an overgrown teenager with too much money. Why should the Joker be paraded around for his amusement? He smacked his down against the glass.

"Are you happy now?" Joker hissed, "You've seen the freak show already. Sorry I couldn't murder or maim somebody for you, but you could always find a way to my side of the glass. I'd be happy to show a sheltered little man like you what it means to be afraid. Maybe then you won't look at me like I'm the scum under your six hundred dollar shoes."

Bruce stood up abruptly and punched at the plexiglass barrier. Pain shot through his arm as his fist made contact with the glass wall. Joker backed up, surprised by the sudden action. He then chuckled.

"Feel better?" Joker asked.

"You don't know who I am," Bruce growled.

_If you did, this would be going a lot differently._

"You sound like disgruntled teenager, I know that much," Joker rolled his eyes.

"How would you know what that sounds like?" Bruce challenged.

Joker paused and then laughed.

"I guess I wouldn't know. Well, maybe you're not so bad but you're still not worth my time."

Bruce could barely stand it. Being around Joker and not being Batman was torture. It was like having an archenemy that didn't even know you existed but despite that Bruce was determined to get some answers. He rested his arm against the glass.

Joker looked at the man before him. He looked tall and powerful as he stood in front of him. He really was a handsome man. He became increasingly less charming as they conversed and Joker found that to his liking. He was amused.

"I'm not here to laugh at you–" Bruce attempted.

"That's a pity; can't you tell I'm here to make you laugh?"

Bruce sighed and sat back down, gritting his teeth to fight his agitation. He loosened his tie, a habit he'd picked up whenever he was stressed in business meetings. It felt unnatural to try tactics with Joker. No tactic really worked and it felt redundant to try.

"I've followed your criminal career for a while now," Bruce tried again, "I wanted to see you because I'm curious."

"Me too!" Joker played, "What do you think I'll do next?"

"Well," Bruce confessed, "I don't know. You could do anything."

Joker bounced with laughter.

"Now there's a smart boy," Joker replied.

Bruce smiled out of relief despite the belittling comment. He seemed to be getting somewhere with Joker. It felt good to make a little progress, even if it wasn't the way Batman would do it.

Joker stared at Bruce's smile. People didn't normally smile at Joker. It was almost interesting.

"Why haven't you escaped yet?" Bruce asked suddenly, "Is something stopping you? Are they drugging you or something? Hurting you?"

Joker was assaulted by the questions and paused for a moment to let them sink in.

"Because I haven't, no, no, and uh, no," Joker answered, "You know–and correct me if I'm wrong– you almost sound like you care. Didn't you just call me sick?"

Bruce could feel the blush returning to his face as the new trigger word, 'care', settled in. Bruce didn't care. He didn't care at all for the Joker. He cared about punishing criminals and consequently Joker was a criminal. At least, that's what Bruce thought.

"Aren't the sick the ones most in need of being cared for?" Bruce tried to word it, "I feel a need to understand you."

Joker examined Bruce closely. He had started out as an annoyance but something had changed. This stranger had nothing to gain from knowing the Joker and yet he had a serious desire to do so. It was flattering in way.

"You'd have to be like me to understand me," Joker warned.

"You realize that everyone says that about themselves, right?" Bruce replied.

Joker's tongue popped in and out in irritation.

"Don't ever compare me with normal people," Joker warned.

Bruce laughed lightly and smiled at the Joker.

"I know you're human, Joker. Underneath everything, you are."

"You don't know anything about me!" Joker snarled at Bruce and then softened into a bitter sadness, "Not even I do..."

The soft side of Joker should have been discomforting but Bruce felt some sort of sympathy for him. Joker's eyes had dropped to his hands and he looked like he was hurting.

"Did you ever want to?" Bruce asked.

"Why would I?" Joker replied, regaining his demented cheeriness, "I am who I am now. I'm Joker. Shouldn't that be enough?"

Bruce thought about that for a moment. Joker being himself was certainly more than enough for the world but was it enough for Joker?

"Who are _you_, anyway?" Joker interrupted Bruce's thoughts.

"I thought I already introduced myself–"

"No," Joker argued, "You told me your name but you haven't shown me who you are. You came in acting like you're charming and light hearted but you're not. So then, who are you?"

Bruce pondered that as well for a moment. He was Bruce right now. He was also Batman. He couldn't be both at the same time though. So then, which one was he? Was he Bruce attempting to accomplish Batman's work? Or was he Batman using Bruce to his advantage?

"I don't really know. Too many of 'me' to pick from," Bruce replied.

Joker chuckled at this. He didn't find Bruce to be a person of interest but he was more than just amusing. He was honest, at least after Joker had demolished the wall of charm.

"I like you Bruce," Joker announced.

Bruce was taken aback by the statement. He'd gotten a little too lost in thought. He mustered up the usual picture perfect grin much to his own displeasure.

"Well, I guess I ought to watch my back then," Bruce joked.

Joker raised an eyebrow at Bruce, questioning the reaction. Bruce cleared his throat, unsure of what to do. He then remembered one of the very important reasons why he'd come in the first place.

"So, I've got to ask; the kiss with Batman–" Bruce began awkwardly, "Why?"

"I guess Batsy just couldn't stand to keep his hands off me anymore," Joker grinned.

"I hardly believe that!" Bruce argued, his face turning bright red.

"You aren't jealous, are you Bruce?" Joker chided.

The red of Bruce's face deepened.

"You're a _very_ sick man," Bruce replied.

Joker laughed. He enjoyed Bruce's expressions. They seemed familiar here and there and then again they were completely new. As entertained as Joker was, he felt connected to Bruce in a way. Bruce was new but Joker felt like he knew him. A thought passed over Joker.

_Could he be from my past...?_

"He didn't do it on purpose, if that's what you're wondering," Joker quickly corrected, trying to divert his attention from his questionable history. "I had a detonator in my mouth. I honestly didn't think he'd try it. It seemed like a fun way to mess with the Bat."

Bruce's face returned to its normal shade as he questioned the Joker's sudden honesty.

"That's it?" he asked, "You were just playing a _prank_?"

"What would you like me to say, Bruce? That Batsy and I are lovers?" Joker hissed before letting a smug smile find its way on his face, "Well, we are but not the way normal people get to be. It's the affair of the unstoppable force and the immovable object. We spend so much time with each other, fighting one another, even understanding one another that we might as well be lovers."

Bruce didn't want admit it but the Joker made sense. The Joker rocked back and stared at the ceiling as he continued to muse.

"Everyone knows at this point that my life is all about playing with Batman. He's fun, y'know? The whole world burning down to the ground is becoming more and more of a side quest. What everyone doesn't know–and I believe I do–is that the Bat is probably going crazy without me right now."

Bruce swallowed a lump in his throat as shame and conviction crawled up his neck.

"Need? Opposition? Passion? Understanding? What would you call that?" Joker posed the question.

"You're crazy, Joker," Bruce avoided.

"Maybe," Joker admitted, "Or maybe I'm just way ahead of my time."

"I think you're wrong," Bruce decided.

"Only time would tell–"

"No, about you and Batman. You're wrong. I don't think Batman needs you at all."

Joker laughed calmly.

"What you think about the Bat doesn't make any difference. I know him better than he even knows himself and I know he needs me as much I need him."

Bruce stood up to leave. Joker still felt like Bruce was someone he knew but he couldn't quite place it. It intrigued him.

Bruce couldn't stand to be in the room anymore. He was certain that Joker was wrong. Bruce walked to the door and turned slightly back towards the Joker.

"It was uh, interesting to speak with you. I hope you stay in Arkham for a long time."

Joker grinned at the other man's back.

"Why? Do you plan to visit me?" Joker asked.

Bruce shook his head.

"A relationship with you would be too complicated, Joker," Bruce said as he placed a hand on the door handle, "You're not quite human and I am, no offense but I'm sure you don't take any anyway."

Joker felt somewhat disappointed and suddenly clingy. He wanted to tackle Bruce and force him to stay and talk but he was trapped behind glass. Instead, he tried to stall the departure.

"So why should I stay, then?" Joker asked.

"Gotham's safer when you're here–" Bruce began.

"I don't care about–" Joker interrupted.

"And you're safer here too." Bruce quickly stated before leaving.

Joker sat alone in a room of metal, glass and tile. Bruce was just a man. He could tell from the look of Bruce that trying to corrupt him would be a loss cause. Oddly enough though, Joker didn't really want to convert the handsome billionaire to his twisted ways. He just felt like talking to Bruce. Bruce wasn't much of a conversationalist but Joker didn't really retain dialogue with anyone other than Batman. It was almost nice to talk to Bruce, to have talked honestly and without motives. Joker almost felt like he was...real.

Joker smacked his palms against his forehead. What purpose did feeling real serve? If Joker wasn't real then he'd make the rest of the world as twisted and unreal as he was. If Bruce made him feel otherwise, then he'd have to kill him.

Joker killed for a purpose as often as he killed indiscriminately. It was a shame that Bruce would be added to Joker's grand memory of corpses but Bruce had brought an aspect of Joker's nightmare to life. He simply had to die.

Joker got up from his seat and made his way to the door. He knocked on it harshly and with impatience. He intended to leave Arkham, kill Bruce Wayne, and then return to the Bat.

_Besides, Bruce,_ Joker thought as he waited for the guard to unlock the door, _I'm not safe at Arkham. I'm not safe anywhere. And if I can't feel safe, then no one can._

**A/N: B-b-b-bu-but noooo! Joker if you kill Bruce… Bruce and Bats are– oh you stupid clown, you! I hate to leave you all with a cliff hanger–wait… no I don't! Cliff hangers are fun! Besides, I've already got the next chapter and the chapter after that written. I just need to do some fine tuning and then all your questions will be answered...or will they? Or will there be more questions? Or a sammich? ...Or a **_**sammich**_**? I've really got to stop writing when I'm hungry. D:**


	6. And Wrote You Someone New

**A/N: EXCITEMENT! :D This chapter introduces one of my favorite characters of all time, guys! Also, there's going to be a twist towards the end. ;) I hope you all enjoy. **

_Alias: Joker_

_Real Name: ?_

_Build: Tall, toned_

_Offenses: (All multiple accounts) Armed robbery, grand theft auto, kidnapping, taking hostages, attempted murder, murder, murder for hire, vehicular homicide, attempted assassination, terrorism, terroristic threats, arson, possession of unlicensed firearms, destruction of public property, assault and battery, impersonation of an officer, racketeering, extortion, breaking and entering, bribery of a government official, enticement to riot, etc._

_Last Known Base of Operations: Gotham Sewer System_

_Joker has made it apparent that he is a sociopath with the intent of molding the city of Gotham to fit his viewpoint. He believes that people are selfish and inhumane by nature and he desires to expose this by creating situations that push unwilling participants to extremes. He sees his encounters with Batman as some sort of game and incorporates it into his quest for Gotham's soul. In combat, he shows signs of being a sadomasochist. He thinks of his relationship with Batman as rivalry for the ages. Recently, he has come to consider himself and Batman as a couple of misguided, if not somewhat twisted pair...of lovers._

"We've arrived, Mr. Wayne," the chauffeur announced.

Bruce quickly exited out of the Bat app on his phone. It was a program he'd designed in order to access the Batcave's data system when he was mobile. It proved useful when he had to travel for business purposes. The app, like all of Batman's technology was impervious to hacking but even with the app being completely safe, Bruce jumped at the chauffeur's voice. He tucked his phone away secretively before opening the door of the limo.

As he stepped out from the limo, hundreds of flashes assaulted him. Reporters crowded the sidewalk, shoving microphones towards Bruce and asking a million questions a minute. Bruce flashed them the usual charming grin as he swam through the crowd.

Bruce found downtown Gotham to be one of the most annoying places to be as Bruce Wayne. As Batman, he wasn't too fond of it either but at least it allowed him to fulfill a purpose. The heart of Gotham was where luxury and poverty existed in ear splitting harmony. All of the seven deadly sins ran wild on its streets creating a sick symphony. Lust, greed, gluttony, wrath, sloth, envy and pride took voice in everyone from the limo driver, to the reporters, to the benefactors and to the thugs and prostitutes waiting around the corner. Batman looked at it all with a just eye and would have taken action but Bruce could do nothing more than fake a smile and play his part.

Upon entering the building, yet again an over the top casino, Bruce was approached by the official media coverage for the night. She was a fake blonde reporter with teeth that were too white and eyes that were too blue. Her cameraman was a portly fellow who appeared to refuse to stop being a teenager by sporting a Star Wars t-shirt and facial acne. The reporter's surgically implanted breasts bounced as she pranced her way towards Bruce in her too high heels.

"Bruce Wayne!" her overtly cheery voice proclaimed, "How do you feel attending the Crowley family's fourth annual Charity Gala event for Education?"

"Well, it feels like I'm doing my part." Bruce answered brightly, and to himself ironically.

The reporter looked like the type who'd throw her ankles behind her head just for another step up the social ladder. God knows what she did in order to be there that tonight. Her cameraman proceeded to show disinterest and immaturity by not-so inconspicuously wiping at his nose.

"Seems a shame that you're playing alone, Bruce" she awkwardly worded, "No date for the hunky billionaire bachelor tonight?"

The reporter winked at Bruce suggestively and Bruce felt repulsed. He held it back as best he could as he tried to muster a response. He knew he had to charm some young and naive woman tonight and it might just end up being her.

"Sorry I'm late, Bruce," a sultry voice purred as a soft and feminine hand slid across Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder and he found himself shocked. A red headed vixen had appeared by his side. She had a beautiful smirk, her red lip-stained mouth closed and the dimple of her cheek nudging at her flesh. Bruce had to process her for a minute before realizing that she intended to save him from the socially set reporter.

"And who exactly are you, _ma'am_?" the reporter asked, her voice drenched with jealousy.

The woman smirked again at the reporter.

"A mysterious stranger, little miss," the woman replied, "Come along, Bruce."

The woman walked a few steps ahead of Bruce before he caught up to her side. He couldn't help himself as he examined her. She was an incredibly curvy woman. Her walk displayed a sense of confidence and place. Her hips swung from side to side as her hair bounced. The wavy locks shimmered in the light, flashing shades of red and orange. Her body screamed temptation and danger like flames dancing in the wind. Her expression divulged no pride in this but rather an annoyance derived from the reactions of the men she passed. She was beautiful. She knew that and she didn't seem to care.

"Thanks for saving me back there," Bruce said to break the silence.

"I didn't save you Bruce, I took advantage of you," the woman replied.

"Excuse me?" Bruce asked before flashing a smile, "I'm not opposed to being taken advantage of but how did you manage to do it back there?"

The redhead rolled her eyes, her green irises circling in a perfect loop. She crinkled her nose in disgust.

"You're just as repulsive as the tabloids say, aren't you?"

Bruce didn't take it to heart. He _was_ a male chauvinist in the limelight. He had to be.

"Before you get your hopes up, you should know that I have no romantic or sexual interest in you whatsoever and therefore I will not be sleeping with you tonight," she pointed out as they came to a stop just outside the crowd, "I threw that little silicone social climber off you because I had business to discuss with you."

Bruce looked her over again. She was a gorgeous woman indeed but she was so straight to the point it could kill a man.

"You ever hear the saying that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" Bruce retorted playfully.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied, her voice edged with sarcasm, "I can't take the proper position to ask you a favor at the moment but I find it just a little indecent to get on my knees in public."

"Do you find it hard to believe that women don't typically sleep with me for favors? Most of them genuinely like me." Bruce said.

"Most of them are genuinely stupid," the woman countered.

A waiter walked by and offered glasses of wine to Bruce and the surly, sexy stranger. Bruce grabbed two and offered one to her. She took it reluctantly and began sipping it.

"If you're so intelligent," Bruce began, "Why haven't you introduced yourself yet? I can't do anything for you if I don't know who you are."

The woman smirked again. She liked that Bruce didn't back down the way most men did. She liked that he didn't attempt to show her where her place was either, like the minority of men tried to do. He simply played along. He wasn't as dim-witted as she'd assumed. Perhaps he could understand her plight after all.

"Pamela," the woman answered, "My name is Pamela Isley."

"Well, Ms. Isley," Bruce replied, "What is it that you're interested in?"

"Plants."

Bruce was confused. He was sure she was aiming for money or some business merger. Surely this incredible specimen of a woman hadn't just stated that her purpose for the night was...foliage.

"I'm interested in plants, Bruce. They're like children and they've been neglected and abused by you and your companies," Pamela furthered.

"Wayne Enterprises runs some of the most ecofriendly business in the world–" he tried to assure her.

"Not friendly enough, Bruce."

The gorgeous ginger had turned out to be an activist. Women just weren't how Bruce remembered them. They used to be normal like Rachel was normal. Lately they'd gotten stranger and stranger and Bruce found them more and more tiresome with each passing day.

"What do you propose?" Bruce asked.

Pamela shifted so that her hand was on her hip. She was assertive and aggressive. Most of the men that looked at her wouldn't dare approach her. Her body language was intimidating despite her body being beautiful.

"I want you to make me the head of your environmental department," she demanded.

Bruce choked a little on the wine he'd been pretending to drink. He looked for signs of jest but she presented none. She was dead serious.

"I used to work for a rival company. Circa Tech?" Pamela continued.

"I thought they shut down after the fire," Bruce interrupted.

"They did. I used to be one of their agricultural scientists. I was working on transferring to their environmental protection sector but the fire happened before they could tell me whether they approved or not."

"I'm so sorry," Bruce offered.

The woman tossed her fiery hair over her shoulder and gave a half smile.

"Don't be. Things like this happen in life and now I'm free to work for you."

Bruce felt wary of the woman. She was confident, blunt, and more than a little rude at times but she seemed driven. That last sentence even sounded a bit...flirtatious. If Bruce remembered right, the head of Wayne Enterprise's environmental group was looking to retire but not for another four or five years. Pamela seemed promising but she also seemed incredibly problematic.

"How about we set up an interview?" Bruce offered, "Bring in everything you can about your previous work and I'll bring you before the board. How about Monday morning?"

Pamela sneered.

"I suppose that's a sufficient start."

Bruce smiled.

"I'm glad to hear that. Just check in at the front desk of my building and the secretary should direct you to the right office. Nine o'clock?"

Pamela nodded. A waiter walked by and took her empty glass. He was a younger man and seemed terrified of her. Rightfully so, she looked like a character straight out of a comic book and had the demeanor of a fierce eco-friendly feminist.

Pamela began to walk away, ignoring the power her curves were firing off around the room.

"Pamela, where are going?" Bruce called after her.

"Home," she replied without turning around, "I've fulfilled my purpose here. I have no desire to watch a bunch of fat cats stretch their waistlines in the name of–" she paused for the sarcasm, "_education_."

"You always knew how to pick 'em, Bruce," Commissioner Gordon declared as he came up behind him.

"She's beautiful Gordon, but–"

"She's a raving bitch," he finished. "I heard bits and pieces."

Bruce shrugged. He couldn't deny it but he wouldn't go so far as to put it in those terms. The wine was sitting in his glass, now undisturbed. Bruce found it a little amusing that because he didn't actually drink, he always appeared to be drinking as he constantly had a full glass in his hand. It was ironic.

"Bruce," Gordon grunted, "We need to talk."

Gordon's tone revealed disappointment and anger and Bruce knew full well why. He could feel embarrassment make its way to his cheeks. In a rush, he downed the wine. He refused to make eye contact with Gordon.

"How's the technology working out?" Bruce avoided, "Is the set up going all right?"

"Knock it off, Bruce. I know what you did earlier today. For God's sakes, it's not like you to avoid owning up to your mistakes. Be a man!"

The shame had turned Bruce's cheeks pink, marking its victory against him. He shuffled his legs a little to try and shake off the feeling of being trapped.

"I know that, Gordon. I–"

"Talking to him makes you a target. This city needs you, Bruce. You endangered us all with what you did."

Gordon was right. What Bruce had done had been reckless. Before ever meeting the Joker, Bruce had decided that he and Batman would be separate. One was a human being with flesh, blood, and weaknesses, and the other would be the terror of the night. Joker seemed to be crossing them over. Bruce had actually confronted the Joker as himself, as Bruce. Joker was a highly intelligent psychopath and with a little fine-tuned surveillance, he could easily figure out who Batman was.

Then again, what did that really mean for Bruce? Rachel and Alfred had passed away. Lucius and Bruce had become so business oriented over time that their friendship had more or less dissolved. Joker might go after Wayne Enterprises but it was doubtable. Joker wouldn't want to expose Bruce. After all he loved Batman.

"It's not going to happen again. I just wanted a few answers, Gordon. I would have approached him appropriately but you said yourself that I should lay low for a while."

"Damn it, Bruce!" Gordon tried to lower his voice, "He might come after you. He might kill you. God knows what could result from your conversation! Besides, you can't lay low anymore."

"Why's that?"

Gordon took a step towards Bruce and whispered quietly.

"Joker's escaped."

There was a silence as the news slowly sunk into Bruce despite the clink of drinks and the snobbish gossip that surrounded him. He approached the nearest surface and placed his empty glass on top of it. Gordon watched him warily. Without a word, Bruce took off for the nearest exit. Gordon sighed and gulped at his wine. There was no stopping Bruce now.

It was raining outside as Bruce called for a taxi. Trying to locate his limo driver would take too long and Bruce knew he hadn't time to waste. After a few minutes, a dirty, yellow cab pulled up. Bruce got in and quickly muttered his address and that he was in a hurry.

_Joker's out. He's running free again_, Bruce thought as he rid inside the taxi. _He's up to something. I've got to find him._

The quiet driver made his taxi sputter its way down Gotham's streets as fast as possible. He wasn't aware of who Bruce was but assumed he had money. He thought he might be heading off to have an affair or to conceal one. He certainly looked frazzled enough. But who was he to judge?

The two men were lost in thought, completely absorbed in their minds when the cab driver began to slow down for a light and a figure appeared in front of the cab.

The thud was loud. The driver came to a halt and Bruce snapped out of his thoughts. The two were silent as the concept of hitting something settled in. Bruce considered getting out and seeing what it was. The driver shifted gears and began to back up. Bruce put his hand on the door, ready to investigate. The driver then began to drive around his victim.

"What are you doing?" Bruce shouted.

"What?" the driver replied anxiously, "I thought you were in a hurry."

Bruce shook his head at the driver and got out of the cab. The driver responded by taking off into the night. Bruce was at a loss for words for it as he stood in the middle of the street with the rain pouring down and a body in front of him.

_Oh no..._

Bruce examined the man lying in front of him. He had no shirt or shoes on just a raggedy long coat, a baggy pair of blue jeans, and a dirty beanie. He looked like one of the homeless men who roamed the city and rambled about the end of times.

The man began to move, he tried to lift himself up with his arm but he moaned in pain and fell back down which forced him to cry out.

"Don't move," Bruce stated, "You've just been hit by a cab. You can't move–"

A car had driven up behind Bruce and honked wildly at him. Bruce turned; ready to explain the situation until he saw the car. It was a young man in an expensive car and Bruce knew it was a lost cause. It quickly drove around them.

It was rare for Gotham to not have traffic but the cab driver who abandoned Bruce had decided to take some backstreets. Typically, traffic was absent from the street for five minutes at most and only at night. Batman, when he was out stalking Gotham for criminals, would sometimes wonder why it was that this area had such a strange traffic pattern but in the end it never really seemed to matter.

Despite knowing better, Bruce knelt down and lifted the hurt man. The man groaned in pain and Bruce apologized repeatedly as he moved him out of the street. He set him down on the sidewalk gently. The man had begun to cry.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I'll get you to a hospital!" Bruce said.

"No!" the man yelled, "No hospitals! No hospitals!"

"Look, we've got to get you to a doctor. You were hit by a car!"

"No!" the man exclaimed again, trying to stand, "See? I'm–fine!"

The man forced himself to stand up as Bruce tried to convince him to stop. Bruce looked at the man. He was younger than he'd expected. He wasn't much older than Bruce. He was covered in dirt. Even his chest was dirty. Bruce took a side of the long coat and looked at the man's flesh. A large red imprint of the man's ribs appeared beneath his dirt and grime.

"You're injured!" Bruce yelled, "Lie back down!"

"No doctors…" the man breathed heavily, wincing from the hurt, "Please no–no doctors!"

The man collapsed and Bruce caught him before the man could hit the ground. The man groaned again as Bruce tried to hold him up. The injured man kept begging Bruce not to take him to a doctor. Bruce tried to support him with one arm as he hailed another taxi.

The cab pulled up and Bruce assisted the man in hobbling over. Bruce opened the door and the man crawled into the cab. The female cab driver looked at the two, confused.

"You can't lie on you ribs! Turn over!" Bruce ordered as he helped, "On your side, now!"

Once the man was righted, Bruce ran to the other side and got inside the cab. The woman began to panic.

"Uh, sir, where to?" she asked, worried.

"The nearest hospital–"

"No!" the man cried, "Please...please no."

Bruce looked at the man. He looked like he was hurting but the idea of a hospital looked like it hurt him more. Bruce hesitated but then recited his address to the driver. The driver then took off down the streets of Gotham.

The man continued panting and coughing away.

"That's it, keep coughing," Bruce advised, calming down, "It'll keep anything from pooling."

"It hurts," the man replied before coughing again.

Despite the shady scene in her backseat, the driver didn't ask what was going on. She had learned very quickly in life that if you didn't ask anything then you weren't responsible. Still, she eyed them from her position behind the wheel.

Bruce took off his coat, careful not to move the injured man.

"I'm going to need you to lift yourself up a little," Bruce stated, "Then I want to put your arm down where it hurts. I'm going to tie my jacket around you, okay? On three: One, two, three!"

The man did as he was told and Bruce fashioned a splint as quickly as possible. The man flopped back down and yelped as he hit the seat. The man's head was now on Bruce's lap. Bruce placed a hand on the man's face, concerned for him hitting the seat so hard.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

The man nodded and Bruce realized the tenderness with which he was touching the stranger. He removed his hand awkwardly.

Meanwhile the cab driver, from her ever watchful place in the front seat, had recognized one of the men in her back seat.

"Bruce Wayne!" she exclaimed, "Well I'll be damned! I've got the Bruce Wayne in my cab! And to think, I wasn't going to pick up you and your jacked-up friend there! I'll be damned."

_I hope you are damned. _Bruce mentally growled.

Bruce had never wanted to punch a woman so badly in his life. There was a man gasping for air and crying in pain and she doesn't say a word but the minute she recognizes a celebrity in her back seat she decided to say something.

"Bruce… Wayne?" the man asked.

Bruce looked down at him and smiled softly.

"Yeah, I'm Bruce Wayne," he assured him, "What's your name?"

The man coughed and seemed to zone out for a few minutes. Bruce nudged him with his knee.

"Hey, buddy," he tried again, "What's your name?"

The man took a shallow breath.

"Jack," he forced himself to say, "I'm Jack."

**A/N: HOLY PLOT TWIST BATMAN! D: Now, anybody who reads plenty of Joker fanfiction and is familiar with the character probably thinks they know exactly where I'm going with this Jack person but before you judge, know that I'm not going the usual direction. I'm going to have fun with good 'ol Jack and I'll that be that so I don't give any spoilers. Also, how'd y'all like bitchy Pamela? I like her lots. ;9 Stay tuned for more!**


	7. For the You I Found Unreal

**A/N: I know not everybody was expecting this to have Jack in it but when I first started, neither did I. Surprise! A fair warning: there will be other couples in this fanfic but they won't come until much later. Enjoy the seventh chapter!**

_I am not but a pseudo soul._

_Birthed by man of mortal sin._

_My father's heart was black as coal._

_I am not but a pseudo soul_

_given much life and not control._

_I pray you never let me in._

_I am not but a pseudo soul._

_Birthed by man of mortal sin._

Bruce read the small piece of paper over again. He'd been making a quick search for identification on Jack but all he found was a plain faced napkin with a poem scribbled on it. It was a dark piece of work but not bad. Bruce folded it back up as neatly as he'd found it and placed it back into Jack's coat pocket before picking up his first aid kit. He wondered what it could have meant.

Jack could be heard making soft moans and coughing every now and then in the other room. Bruce didn't quite understand why'd he brought Jack home but it was too late to turn him over to the hospital at that point. Bruce tried to write it off to the sad state of the man. He had nothing on him but a long coat, a pair of pants, a beanie and a poem. Taking Jack to a hospital would leave him with a bill he couldn't pay and if Bruce paid it, the media would catch wind of the action. Bruce didn't want anyone to think he was capable of rescuing another human being. The public might get ideas.

Bruce walked back into the guest bedroom where he'd placed Jack. It was the most comfortable place in Wayne Manor on the first floor. Bruce gained a sudden appreciation for the cleaning crew that visited once every few weeks and was glad he'd bothered to keep them around. He set down the first aid kit and looked at Jack.

"Okay, Jack," Bruce said, "I need you to tell me if anything hurts and where."

Jack paused and concentrated, half trying to locate the pain and half trying to figure Bruce out.

"Just my chest," Jack replied, "the right side. Hurts when I cough too."

"I know, Jack, but it's good for you so if you feel a cough coming, let it out. Nothing else hurts, right?" Bruce asked again.

Jack shook his head. Bruce glanced again at Jack's ribs. The red imprint remained; tinges of purple forming in the middle.

"Lie on your back for a second." Bruce commanded softly.

Jack obliged but was suspicious of the man treating him. Most people would have left Jack for dead in the street. A smaller few would have left him in a hospital against his will. This man though, this Bruce Wayne, had taken things a step further. He'd taken Jack into his home and was treating Jack himself. Jack didn't know why but he had been certain that the world was not a kind place and yet kindness had shown itself in the form of a rich stranger. It was a little too good to be true.

"Your breathing's a lot better," Bruce noted as he looked through the first aid kit.

"Yeah," Jack admitted, "I think I was breathing heavier than I needed to because of the whole doctor thing."

"I hope you don't find this intrusive but…" Bruce lingered.

"What? The doctor thing?" Jack tried to clarify as he stared into the ceiling, "To be honest I don't really know my–"

Bruce unexpectedly straddled Jack. Jack's eyes grew big as he felt Bruce glide his cold hands lightly over his torso. They traveled from his hip bones and upwards. Bruce's face was locked in an expression of stony determination.

"What are you doing?" Jack asked, not so much panicked as suspicious.

Bruce settled his palms over Jack's ribs.

"Breathe normally," Bruce commanded.

"But why are you–"

"I need to see if you have any chest failure. Calm down and breathe normally."

Jack was sure he had no idea what straddling had to do with checking chest failure but he did as he was told anyway.

Bruce was more or less unaware of the awkwardness of the position. After all, he tussled around with full grown men all the time as Batman. It occurred to him that Jack might have mistaken the action for something violent at first.

"I did give you a warning," Bruce noted as he watched Jack's chest.

"Well I didn't know that this was what you meant by intrusive," Jack complained, "I thought you were asking me–"

"Be quiet and breathe," Bruce ordered.

Jack's chest rose and fell evenly and Bruce removed himself carefully. He then rummaged through a drawer and chose a white t-shirt at random. He began to carefully roll it up.

"Well," Joker asked, curious about the strange test, "how is it?"

"You've broken less than three ribs so you'll be okay in about a month."

Bruce placed the rolled up t-shirt beneath the fracture to support it. It wasn't necessary but Bruce figured he'd take the precaution. Besides, it helped with the pain. Bruce returned to the medical kit and retrieved a roll of tape. As gently as he could, he began taping up the fractured bones.

"You really didn't need to do all this," Jack said matter-of-factly.

Bruce was aware of this. He didn't _need_ to do anything. It would have been more convenient to leave Jack at the hospital or just in the street. Bruce could have turned a blind eye just like the driver had but he didn't. Bruce was a good guy and good guys had to do what's right, not what's convenient, whether they were wearing the mask or not.

"Most people say thank you in these situations," Bruce corrected.

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Most people don't find themselves in these situations," he argued.

"Are you always this optimistic?" Bruce said sarcastically.

Bruce had finished bandaging up Jack and felt awkward as the silence filled the room. Bruce wanted to ask if Jack had any family to return to or a friend to stay with but considering that the man didn't even have shoes, he felt he already knew the answer.

Jack eyed the stranger that was caring for him. He didn't want to trust him. Then again, Jack didn't want to trust anybody. He didn't know where he was, when he was, or who he was. He felt a little questioning was justified.

Bruce stood up and began to leave. Jack would be fine on his own and Bruce could check on him every now and then. Besides, Joker was still running out and around Gotham.

"Wait," Jack called after him, "Where are you going?"

Bruce turned around and looked over Jack. He assumed that Jack would look panicked but instead a somewhat pouty expression of distrust looked back at him.

"I've got some work to do," Bruce answered, not sure how to approach the look.

"So what," Jack furthered, "you're just going to leave a stranger in your bed?"

Bruce pulled up a chair next to the bed. He felt tired and while he knew he'd gone beyond doing right by this man he was getting irritated with him. Maybe he would have felt sorry for him if he looked scared but he didn't. He simply looked unsatisfied and to Bruce that meant he looked ungrateful.

"First off, that's not my bed and second," Bruce stated as he sat down, "you can't really move too much so it's not like you can run off with anything or attack me. Even if you did, I've got plenty of money so I wouldn't miss anything and let's just say that I'm not the kind of man you can easily get a cheap shot from."

Jack studied Bruce. He seemed so serious. It was as if the severity of life had been carved into his every worry line. It occurred to Jack that Bruce looked familiar but he wasn't sure how. Then, out of nowhere, he knew exactly who Bruce was.

"You're Bruce Wayne," Jack concluded.

"Yeah," Bruce replied, unsure, "I thought we established that back in the cab."

"No," Jack said, "I mean I know who you are. You're Bruce Wayne, the billionaire. And since I know who you are that means I've finally remembered something."

Bruce paused to process the statement.

"What do you mean, finally remembered something?"

"I mean I know something about my placing and existence," Jack had the look of an epiphany, "And you run Wayne Enterprises! Of course, I think I've seen you on tabloids. Oh that's what they're called...tabloids...and they sell those on the street...at kiosks..."

"Hold on a second," Bruce interrupted.

Jack followed orders and did so with less suspicion. Now that he was remembering things, he felt that Bruce was useful as opposed to questionable. After all, Bruce was a well-known, wealthy philanthropist and he had the kindness to take in Jack for the night. Jack could get used to this lifestyle. How long did Bruce say it took for ribs to heal? A few months?

_I can certainly prolong that._ Jack mused to himself.

"It sounds like you're suffering from amnesia," Bruce tried to explain, "You must have hit your head when the cab–"

"No," Jack interrupted, "I had it before that."

"What?"

"Amnesia," Jack continued, "Not remembering, I had that before I got hit."

Bruce had underestimated the down and out state of Jack. He'd been worse off than he thought. Not only was he penniless, half dressed, and injured but he'd been suffering amnesia.

"Okay," Bruce accepted, "What's the last thing you can remember?"

Jack paused and his eyebrows furrowed together as he tried to think. His tongue popped out of his mouth for a moment, right as the idea hit him.

"I remember," Jack began, "I remember waking up."

"Where?" Bruce asked, sounding more irritated than concerned.

"In an alley," Jack tried to pinpoint, "A back street."

"Okay," Bruce prodded, "Was there anybody there with you?"

"No, I was alone. And my head– my head hurt pretty badly."

Bruce reached towards Jack's beanie. It was a dirty thing, stained black and green. Bruce had barely lifted the end of it upwards when he saw the light bruise on Jack's forehead. Bruce quickly pulled down the beanie.

"Let me take you to a hospital," Bruce said, now having the knowledge of Jack's head injury.

"No," Jack responded, "I don't want to go to a hospital."

"They can help you there, Jack. They can try and figure out who you are. Do you even know your last name?"

"I don't even know my first!" Jack chuckled.

"Wait, then why did you say your name is Jack?" Bruce questioned.

Jack sighed as he attempted to prop himself up.

"The lady in the cab referred to me as your 'jacked-up' friend. I recognized that Jack was a name and I took it," he admitted.

Bruce stopped dead from his attempt to get Jack to a hospital. The stranger had just up and picked a name? How could he do that? Wasn't he scared or confused? Bruce would want to know who he was...at least he thought he'd want to know.

"Don't you want to know who you are?" Bruce asked.

"Why?" Jack asked back, "I mean, look at me. I'm nobody. I might as well be nobody named Jack. At least I've got a name now. Why should it matter whether it's really mine or not? It's no more anyone else's name. There's a lot of Jack's in the world. So why not be another Jack?"

Bruce looked at Jack with a sense of wonder and absolute confusion. Most people who suffered amnesia were either gullible or paranoid but either way confused. Jack had gotten over it a bit too quickly. He was smiling and laughing and quite comfortable with himself even though he didn't know who 'himself' was.

_Then again, I don't know who I really am either..._ Bruce thought, taking his Batman persona into consideration.

Jack noticed that Bruce had been overcome by some deep thought. He looked too young to be so stern.

_He really ought to smile._

"Besides," Jack cheerily tried to break Bruce's mood, "I like the name Jack. It's nice."

The attempt was successful and Bruce snapped out of his thoughts. He focused on the smiling Jack and returned the expression. As Jack grinned at Bruce, he felt a strange tug on the corners of his mouth but before he could address it, he noticed Bruce's smile. It was soft and small. His lips were pulled into a gentle semi-circle. It seemed real though he wasn't sure why he felt that Bruce would give a fake one.

"You've got a beautiful smile," Jack said out loud.

The smile vanished from Bruce's face and a look of mild shock replaced it.

"That's not the sort of thing one man says to another," Bruce noted as he recovered from the comment.

"Well why not?" Jack asked, "You've got a nice smile. You should hear that all the time!"

"I do," Bruce admitted, "But not from a man."

Jack smiled mischievously and for a moment, Bruce thought he recognized something in Jack. Jack then looked over Bruce. His expression was a mixture of deviance and allure. It looked familiar but it also sparked embarrassment in Bruce.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Bruce shouted.

"You've got great hair," Jack began, "And a nice build. You're strong. I felt it when you picked me up. And those eyes, I've never seen anybody with that color before. You're breathtaking, Bruce."'

Bruce could feel the red spreading from his cheeks to the rest of his face. He had the sudden urge to hit Jack just to shut him up but Bruce wasn't allowed to hit anybody. He wasn't even supposed to feel the urge to hit people.

Jack then chuckled. It was a light laughter, whimsical and musical. Bruce was caught off guard by it.

"I'm just kidding," Jack joked, "You really need to lighten up. You're so serious!"

Bruce still couldn't shake off the embarrassment and didn't make eye contact with Jack. Jack noticed this and suddenly felt as if he'd pushed too far. He reached over and put a hand on Bruce's knee.

"It was a joke, Bruce," Jack tried to apologize. "You really shouldn't listen to me. I'll take it back. You're ugly and utterly normal. Not breathtaking at all. Better?"

Bruce stared at Jack's hand and Jack, feeling uncomfortable, took it back. There was an awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," Jack finally said, "I'm talking to you like I know you and, call me crazy, but I feel like I do. Do I?"

Bruce stopped shunning Jack and thought about the question.

"No, but–"

"Because you've kind of been talking to me like you know me too," Jack realized.

Bruce considered this and Jack was right. Bruce didn't know Jack at all. Jack didn't even know who he was and yet Bruce had rescued him. Bruce rescued a lot of nameless strangers but he always did it as Batman. He'd taken Jack into his home, tended to his wounds and was having a conversation with him. Bruce felt as if he'd gone beyond the beyond of taking responsibility, maybe he actually had some compassion for this stranger.

Jack sensed Bruce's deep thinking again as the room got quiet. He really meant everything he said. Bruce was a very handsome man. He was amused that he'd embarrassed him but he hadn't meant for the poor guy to shut down. He just couldn't help but say how attractive he found him.

_Does that mean I'm gay?_ Jack wondered.

Jack felt an impulse to ask Bruce if he thought he was gay but he held it back. Obviously, homosexuality made Bruce uncomfortable. Instead he looked down at his hands and noticed how unclean they were. His eyes traveled up his own body taking in the grand dirtiness of his person.

"Could I use your bathroom?" Jack asked, breaking the silence, "I think I'm… dirty."

Bruce nodded and got up to help Jack. Jack held up a hand to deny Bruce.

"It's okay, I think I can do it myself," Jack said, "I've got to get used to it anyway. Which way?"

Bruce pointed at a door behind him. Jack seemed like a nice guy if not a little off beat. He seemed harmless enough. He was talented too; at least the poem Bruce had found led him to believe that. Hundreds of good people roamed the streets in a similar condition but Bruce couldn't help but wonder; why him?

Maybe it was Jack's sarcasm or the way he pushed Bruce's buttons but Bruce had this feeling about Jack. He wanted Jack to be safe but life on the streets wasn't safe for anyone, much less an ungrateful, though generally harmless, young transient.

"If you ever get hurt again–"

"I'm not going to a hospital," Jack grunted as he lifted himself from the bed.

"I wasn't going to say that," Bruce said, "If you ever get hurt you can come here. I might not always be home but–"

"No thanks," Jack interrupted, pausing from his journey to the restroom.

"Then you should–"

"Bruce, I may not know very much about myself and I'm okay with that. I do know though that I'm not a charity case. If you want to treat me like one, just keep making donations to homeless shelters and soup kitchens. Your philanthropy will find me soon enough."

Bruce felt the statement stab him. It bothered him to have been branded as an uncaring charity giver. It shouldn't have but it did. In reality, it's what Bruce Wayne was. So did that make this urge to care Batman's doing? It couldn't be possible. Batman was a dark embodiment of justice. So who then felt the urge? Was it really a desire to care for Jack, or was it a warped form of pity?

"I'm opening up my home to you, isn't that more compassionate than charitable?" Bruce proposed.

Jack laughed lightly, the music of it tickling Bruce's ears.

"Opening your home makes you charitable. Opening your heart makes you compassionate."

_Jesus...I didn't expect that..._

Bruce thought about it. The last person he opened his heart to was Rachel and to a prior extent Alfred and they were both dead. He'd thought his compassion died with them. Yet, here he had this sarcastic homeless man lying in one of his beds and telling him about opening his heart.

"For somebody who has amnesia, you're very insightful," Bruce begrudgingly complimented.

"Well," Jack thought out loud, "If I never remember who I am I can't just stop living. I'll just start living today and make myself up as I go. Who knows, I might end up being important someday. Besides, it's a lot better than being scared and confused and–"

"Running into cars?" Bruce offered.

Jack smiled at Bruce before entering the bathroom. Bruce still sat in his chair contemplating Jack. It was so strange for a man to just decide to begin his life not knowing who he was. Bruce was questioning himself more and more every day and this whole conversation had pushed him over the edge. He really didn't know who he was. Neither did Jack but unlike Jack, Bruce had identities to pick from.

"Hey Jack?" Bruce called out.

"Yeah?" Jack's muffled voice replied.

"I'd like you to come back to the manor someday," Bruce said, "You don't have to be hurt. Maybe just drop in?"

There was a beat of silence. Bruce looked over his shoulder at the door.

"Jack?" he called again, "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah!" Jack replied, "That sounds good, Bruce!"

"Are you all right?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah!" Jack answered, "You can go attend to that work if you'd like! I–I think I'll just take a nap!"

"That's probably a good idea," Bruce said to himself, feeling tired.

Jack waited inside the bathroom and listened to Bruce's footsteps outside. He waited anxiously until he heard Bruce close the bedroom door on his way out. Jack let the breath he was holding in go and slowly turned back towards the bathroom mirror. The sink had bits of skin colored latex scattered on it. The dirty beanie lied off to the side. Jack closed his eyes, fearing his reflection. Taking a few deep breaths, he opened them and to his horror he saw that his newly discovered features were still there. Beneath the hat was green hair and under the latex were two gaping scars.

**A/N: DUHN DUHN DHUN! Oh come on, like you didn't know who he was. :P I am having a lovely time exploring this concept by the way. Bruce vs. Batman and the idea of Joker having another personality to which there will be an explanation about in later chapters (can't give it all away at once, that's no fun!). And I don't know about y'all but I enjoyed the imagery of Brucey straddling Jack. Mmmmmm...my pervert braiiiin.**


	8. I Think I Loved Him Too

**A/N: Hello again, everybody! Before we get started, I just wanted to say how much I really like getting reviews from you guys. Even something as simple as "I like this" pretty much makes my day. Things haven't been going too well lately around here but I really like being able to write and immerse myself in another world and share it on FF. Plus, the support you guys show me makes me feel like I'm not just off daydreaming but like I'm actually doing something. Thanks guys. -hugs all around-**

Pamela crossed her legs as she took a seat again in front of the board. Her long red hair was pulled into a ponytail and her square framed, black rimmed glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of her nose. Her face was pulled into an expression of slightly impatient entitlement.

Lucius smiled at her but she did not return the favor. She'd only smile when she got what she wanted and maybe not even at that.

"Well, Ms. Isley," Lucius's authoritative yet kind voice began, "We've thought about your placement long and hard. You have some amazing accreditation and a lot of real experience."

Pamela nodded. Naturally, she had all these things. She'd done everything from grunt work to experimenting in labs to leading entire projects. She'd been paying her dues since she was sixteen-years-old and working as a lab cleaner. Twenty years or so had gone by since then and she was more than ready to take on leading an entire department.

After all, she had mission to complete; to protect the world from a plant-less existence.

"But," Lucius continued, "In your records, we saw that you were working on developing a new breed of plant that would grow at three times the rate of its brother."

_What?_

"That experiment was terminated with the loss of my company," Pamela pointed out, trying to keep the reins on her fury.

Lucius nodded before casually leaning on the table.

"That's true but if you can manage to perfect the breed, then we can start planting them in the areas where Wayne Enterprises has taken advantage of resources. We can begin growing and replenishing those places that we've taken from at a faster rate."

"So, what are you offering me exactly?" Pamela asked, her teeth gritting.

Lucius came around the end of the table and stood in front of Pamela. He smiled kindly to her thinking that she would appreciate the offer they were making her.

"Wayne Enterprises would like to make you one of the official staff members in our ecological and agricultural department. We'd like you to continue the work that you left at Circa Tech."

This was not according to Pamela's plan. What were they trying to pull? Pamela was more than qualified to take on the position she wanted and yet they were dangling the work of her prior position in her face.

"I'm not interested in replenishing at the moment," Pamela said as she ground her teeth, "My main focus is protection and I believe that was the position that I was interviewed for."

Lucius sighed and frowned at her. She was much too pretty of a woman to be so unhappy looking. She was probably just one of those beautiful women who were used to having the world at their fingertips but this was a company and it didn't matter how pretty the applicant was. Lucius would not give in to her.

"That position is currently taken," Lucius began, "But it should be open in a few years and if you would like to be considered for it, we're going to need personal experience with your work ethic."

Pamela sighed to herself. There was no point in getting angry over it. If anything, she should have expected them to want her to prove herself. It was frustrating though. Pamela felt like she was always trying to prove herself and she couldn't help but feel it was because she was a woman. If a man had come in with Pamela's credentials, she was sure they would have hired him on spot.

"Fine," she said begrudgingly, "I'll accept your offer."

"I'm very happy to hear that, Ms. Isley," Lucius said, "You should report to Wayne Laboratories tomorrow morning to Dr. Jason Woodrue."

_Jason: of course I have to report to a man._

Pamela stood up angrily. The next time she saw Bruce, she was going to give him the bitching out of a lifetime. How dare he trick her into having the same job she had before? She didn't want to try growing those plants again. They weren't exactly normal. They were different. They–

_They saved my life..._

Pamela went out into the hallway. She was turning the corner to get to the elevator when a vine from a decorative plant grazed her arm. She stopped and looked at it.

"Hello," she said to the plant.

It was a little potted plant. Its vines were crawling up the wall. Pamela petted one of the leaves and examined it. It was a little under watered. She turned back around and went up to the water cooler.

"Oh," the secretary said, "Did you want a drink? I'm afraid I forgot to restock the cups."

Pamela glared at her. Of course she'd forget to stock paper cups. The secretary apparently had no regard for _anyone's_ thirst, let alone a little plant in the corner. Pamela marched up to the secretary's desk and grabbed her pencil and pen filled coffee mug.

The secretary looked at her oddly.

"Miss, that's my–"

Pamela turned over the mug and let its contents drop out and onto the secretary's desk. The secretary yelped.

"If you're that thirsty–"

"It's not for me but I suppose you wouldn't understand unselfish intentions, would you?" Pamela scolded as she filled the mug with water.

Pamela turned around as the secretary frantically gathered her office supplies. She returned to her thirsty friend in the corner and gently poured water into its soil. The dirt grew dark as it swelled with liquid.

"You know," she said as she gave the plant its drink, "I used to have a plant just like you. I let him grow all over one of my walls...he was a good friend."

Pamela set down the mug on the end table that the plant was on. She took a leaf into her hand and caressed it with her fingertips, gliding them down the leaf and onto the vine.

"I wish I could have taken him with me," she said as she reminisced.

Pamela gave the plant a little pat before turning away and heading down the elevator. Pamela walked out of the building, hailed a taxi, and wound up several blocks from her previous location.

Pamela exited the cab and took in the site of her bank. It was cold, sleek and modern. To her, it seemed dead. She entered anyway despite her annoyance for how terribly manmade it was.

Pamela automatically located the first female teller she could find and since there were no lines that day, she went straight to her. Pamela didn't necessarily like women all that much but she certainly preferred them over men. Women sometimes stared either in awe or jealously but at the very least they didn't begin some obvious fantasy in their head. Pamela detested the simplicity of the average straight male and the average straight female was only a little better in comparison.

"Hello, welcome to the National Bank," the teller replied cheerily and in thick Boston accent, "How can a help you today?"

"I'd like to make a–"

The perky, blonde teller suddenly pulled out a gun from under the desk and pointed it at Pamela's head.

"Deposit?" the teller chimed as she held out a bag to Pamela.

Pamela froze; her mind was at a blank. This teller had a gun. Why did she have a gun? And why in the name of all the green earth was she pointing it at Pamela!

"C'mon lady," the woman whined, "I ain't got all day."

Pamela looked to her left and then to her right and then she fully realized that she was alone in the bank. She leaned back a bit to try and look behind the teller.

"You can't be serious," Pamela stated blankly.

The teller turned around and put an arm out towards the scene behind her as if to present it to Pamela.

"Nah this is just a game," the teller told her, "See? These people lost."

Pamela leaned towards the window a bit. Staff members were draped over their desks and laid out on the floor. The teller, Pamela was now very sure she was not a teller at all, smiled at her and gave her a wink.

"Terrifying isn't it?" the woman teased.

The woman turned back around and saw that Pamela was reaching into her purse. The gun clicked as the woman cocked it.

"Don't even think about calling for the police!" she warned.

"I wasn't," Pamela answered icily.

Pamela placed the money from her purse onto the counter. The other woman looked at her half pleased and half confused at the ninety-six dollars in front of her. She then smirked.

"Boy, aren't you an easy one?" the woman stated, "People ain't usually so quick to give up their money."

Pamela sighed; "You got want you wanted. I'm leaving."

"Aren't you going to stop me?" the woman asked, "Even ask why?"

Pamela shrugged. It didn't matter at all to her what this woman did. Sure, there was a gun pointed at Pamela but she'd been confronted with scarier things than a blonde with a gun and an accent. She was partially curious about one thing though.

"Why aren't you wearing a mask?" she asked.

"That's not really what I meant, Red," the woman pointed out.

"Aren't bank robbers supposed to wear a mask when they do this?" Pamela asked again, "Are you incompetent or desperate?"

The woman crinkled her nose as she took offense.

"This isn't your everyday bank robbery, lady," she argued, "It's a debut!"

_Debut? What is with this woman?_

If Pamela thought women were somewhat logical and acceptable before, she didn't now.

"Starting today, I'm going to be as notorious as the Joker!" the woman chimed.

"Is that your angle?" Pamela asked, "You want to rival that clown?"

The faux teller's face flashed to anger. Her small, agile body hopped up onto the counter. She was on her knees and she grabbed Pamela by the ponytail. The woman dug the gun into the side of Pamela's head.

"Don't you ever talk about Mr. J like that," she warned.

Pamela did not like to be touched. In fact, she hated when people touched her. It disgusted her but as the bank robber had her by the hair with a gun to her head, memories sparked in Pamela. Nobody would hurt her. Nobody. Not ever again.

"Let go of me!" Pamela screeched as she punched her attacker square in the face.

The woman went back a bit and dropped the gun but that wasn't enough for Pamela. She grabbed her by the collar and threw her to the side with impressive force. The woman skidded a bit. Pamela picked up the gun quickly and pointed it at her.

"You're a sad excuse for a criminal," Pamela sneered, "The Joker would never be that sloppy and unlike you, he had some God damn finesse. You can't even be bothered to wear a mask. Do you even have a name?"

Pamela threw the gun down and watched as it skidded towards the other woman but the woman made no move for it. Blood was coming out from the blonde's nose but it didn't seem to faze her. What seemed to bother her was Pamela's words visibly tore into her.

"Harleen," Harley said quietly, "My name is Harleen."

Pamela rolled her eyes.

"You're going to want to get out of here," Pamela said, "Eventually, someone's going to know that something's wrong here."

Harleen didn't move from her spot on the ground. Pamela righted her ponytail as she turned heel and nonchalantly strutted for the door.

Pamela Isley was a lot of things. She was sexy. She was mean. She was a scientist. She was an ecological tree hugger but she was nobody's push over. She was one tough bitch.

Jack however, was not so tough. He stood in front of the gates of Wayne Manor, unable to bring himself to push the call button. He shouldn't have been there knowing who and what he was.

_I'm a monster, _he thought again for the hundredth time.

It was surreal, having stood in Bruce's bathroom and having looked at himself. Up until that point, Jack had no idea what he looked like. He could have been plain or beautiful but no. He was ugly in way that could never be fixed.

Flashes of memories came back to him as he had stood there. They burst in and out of his mind like punches to the gut. He doubled over as if he was going to retch. He'd watched a man being eaten alive by dogs. He watched another man be terrorized and tortured. He watched hundreds die. He watched it all and he had done it all.

The green, greasy locks of hair had tumbled down into his eyes and had hung there like thick webs. His fingers had groped at the gapping sides of his mouth and felt the bumps and irregularity of scarred flesh. How could it be? How were these memories his? How was this, his face?

It wasn't the horror of the vivid and disturbing memories. It wasn't the smell of blood or fire. It wasn't the sounds of the screams that Jack was reacting to. It was that those smells and those sounds and those detailed, unforgettable sights, belonged to Jack.

Jack had stumbled out of the manor that night. He'd roamed the streets, half dazed. The night and neon lights had seemed to blur and fuzz together. He'd eventually found himself in front a building. The building, nameless and corporate had a newspaper dropped in front of it.

Jack had stared at that paper for what seemed like hours as it slowly came into focus. On the front page was his face, covered in haphazard and grungy clown makeup. The headline read:

JOKER ESCAPES ARKHAM

Jack didn't remember what happened between now and then. Day and night had bled into one another and all sense of time had escaped him. His tongue grazed the scars as he stared at the gates. They tasted of partially dried blood. In his hallucinogenic fit, it seemed he'd mutilated himself.

_Again…_

A car horn sounded and Jack jumped a bit. He turned around slowly and looked in the car. Bruce was behind the wheel. He looked confused and attempted to wave to Jack before realizing what had happened to his face.

Bruce leapt out, his car still running, and came up to Jack.

"What happened to you!" he said as he grabbed Jack by the shoulders.

Jack wasn't sure what to say. Was it even something that had happened? Or was it something that just was?

"Who did this to you?" Bruce growled deeply, the sound sending an odd shiver up Jack's spine.

Jack said nothing. After all, what could he say? What was he supposed to say?

"Come with me," Bruce demanded.

Bruce grabbed Jack's arm and dragged him back towards the car. Jack got inside and before he knew it the two of them were sitting together in front of an unlit fireplace.

"Jack," Bruce said slowly, "I need you to tell me what happened."

Jack stared at Bruce. He wanted to say something. He wanted to say exactly what he was thinking; _Bruce, my friend, it seems that I'm the Joker so in I'm, in a word, fucked._

"Jack," Bruce asked after a minute of silence, "Did Joker do this to you? Do you know who that is?"

"...I do," Jack admitted.

"That bastard!" Bruce shouted, slamming a palm on the coffee table and standing up, "Is that his game now? To start marking people to make them like him! When I get a fucking hold of–"

Bruce stopped in midsentence and suddenly looked very surprised. Jack looked at him, confused. Had that really happened? Surely Bruce had not just nearly blown his cover like that.

"–the reporters, he's going to regret this!" Bruce quickly covered.

"No!" Jack shouted suddenly.

"No?" Bruce asked.

Jack tried to think and think quickly.

"Maybe I deserved it," Jack mused calmly.

Bruce sat back down and looked at Jack carefully. Jack considered his situation; of course he no longer had Joker makeup on. Also, while in his fit Jack had hid inside a public bathroom and had his head under a running faucet for almost an hour, probably in an attempt to drown. Instead, he'd managed to wash out all the green from his hair. The only marking resemblance Jack and Joker shared was the two, long cuts on each side of the mouth. Even then, Jack's appeared to be fresh.

If Bruce hadn't figured out that he was the Joker by then, he might not ever.

"Why would you deserve it?" Bruce questioned, looking at him skeptically.

Jack did not like that look. He returned it with an expression that seemed to say; _and just what the hell are you getting at there, buddy?_ Bruce retracted his skepticism. Joker sighed.

"When I left your house, I was in a bit of a stupor. I guess maybe I had hit my head a little harder than I thought."

"So because you were _vulnerable_, you deserved it?" Bruce asked disapprovingly.

"No! No," Jack said, "You see...well–"

Jack wanted to word it just right. He wanted to be telling the truth without really telling the truth. There was no point in freaking out Bruce. After all, Bruce was Jack's only...well his only anything really.

"You can tell me," Bruce assured.

Bruce was so strangely kind to him. He may not have been the sharpest tool in the shack when it came to certain things but he seemed infinitely concerned with Jack if not a little caring.

And well, Jack had to admit, he was handsome and rich. Who could give that up?

"I think I may have been a bad person, Bruce," Jack chose his words carefully, "If the Joker wanted to do something like this to me then maybe I haven't been the cleanest citizen in Gotham."

Accounting for his smell and appearance, this seemed to be true.

"Do you remember anything? Do you remember being a criminal of any kind?" Bruce asked.

Jack shook his head. It wasn't entirely a lie. The memories were his but they didn't feel like his. It felt like someone had transplanted sick fantasies into his mind and had left them there. He wasn't necessarily uncomfortable with them. He just didn't feel like he owned them.

"Are you still a bad person?" Bruce asked.

Jack thought. Was he a bad person? Strictly speaking, he hadn't done anything particularly criminal. The most he could be convicted of was jay walking as far as he remembered now that he was Jack.

_That's it isn't it? I'm Jack now._

So Jack remembered that he was Joker. So what? So the Joker did some terrible things and terrorized an entire city? So fucking what! Jack may have recalled being the Joker but he didn't feel like the Joker. In fact, he didn't feel like the Joker at all.

"No," Jack answered affirmatively and with a smile, "I'm Jack."

Bruce flinched back. It was too eerie for him to watch Jack give such a wide, scarred smile. It looked like the Joker's smile. It wasn't that it frightened him. It was just severely uncomfortable.

Jack tilted his head a bit to the side and the smile dropped from his face. His fingers found their way to the scars and he chuckled.

"Oh yeah," Jack said, "I guess smiling would look a little weird now, huh?"

_Weird doesn't even begin to cover it._ Bruce thought.

"Why didn't you say anything when you left?" Bruce changed the subject.

Jack smiled carefully, softly and with a closed mouth. He leaned a bit on Bruce and batted his eyes.

"Why, did you miss me?" he flirted.

Bruce pushed him off with an incredible lack of force. His face promptly began to turn pink.

Jack thought it was strange to watch such a handsome guy like Bruce blush. Bruce always appeared so serious and clear cut. It almost seemed like an artist's mistake when hints of pink and red crawled onto the hue of his fair skin. Still, in a way, Jack found it amusing.

"Argh!" Jack feigned, "My ribs!"

Bruce abandoned his embarrassment and looked at Jack with alarm. Jack smiled, once again taking care not to make it wide or opened.

"Gotcha," he chuckled.

Bruce frowned.

"The next time you go somewhere, you should let someone know," Bruce redirected again.

Bruce was actually relieved that Jack had told him not to tell the reporters. It would be difficult explaining all this to the press without the danger of implications. Not to mention that he'd already crossed the line by visiting Joker as Bruce. The last thing he needed to do was claim war against him. However, Bruce had not been relieved when Jack had gone missing.

Batman had been out and on the prowl. He'd been searching for Joker everywhere but Joker had become a recluse. There wasn't a sign of him. Even if there had been, Batman had been a little distracted by his life as Bruce. Bruce kept feeling the urge to look for Jack. After all, Jack was homeless and injured. He'd just disappeared in the morning without a word. Was it any wonder that the thoughts interrupted the dark knight's fruitless search for Joker?

It wasn't as if Batman could look for Jack. If he did, just what would he do with him? Batman didn't know Jack. He wouldn't be able to do a single thing. It was also impossible for Bruce to do anything about locating Jack since he couldn't have the press sniffing at his heels.

In the end, all Bruce could do was to want to find Jack just as much as Batman wanted to find Joker.

Jack studied Bruce. There it was again. Bruce was locked in some deep and serious concentration. Jack hated the expression. It made Bruce look old and severely depressed. He didn't like the sad old man before him.

_He needs to liven up a bit._

Without really thinking about it, Jack leaned over and kissed Bruce on the cheek.

Bruce jumped up to his feet and backed away from Jack.

"What are you doing!" he demanded.

Jack gave his now soft smile and gave a careless and breathy laugh.

"I was just saying thank you, Bruce," Jack explained.

"That's–" Bruce breathed heavily as his face turned red, "That's not how men say thank you!"

"Oh I know," Jack said playfully, "But imagine if they did. Imagine if everyone did. Ooh, hey, imagine if women said thank you like that to each other."

Jack winked at him mischievously. It was so difficult for Bruce to resist punching him. It wasn't so much that he wanted to but that it was a reflex. Jack had startled him _and_ made him uncomfortable so of course, inner Batman seemed to chime _punch! Punch! Punch!_

"Are you gay?" Bruce asked, still keeping his distance.

Jack shrugged.

"Are you?" he asked back.

Bruce couldn't help it, he flashed back to Batman's and Joker's kiss. It came and went like a flash in a montage but the lines of the image shadowed his consciousness.

"Are you gay?" Bruce demanded to know.

Jack thought. Was he gay? He'd wanted to ask that before but it didn't seem like the right time. Now, Bruce was asking him about it and he still wasn't quite sure he knew the answer. He supposed he could be gay. He also supposed he might not be gay.

"I don't know," Jack said as if he'd been asked something as simple as the directions to a bus stop.

Bruce would never understand this Jack person. Did he really not know or was he lying? Jack seemed like the kind of smart ass to lie but would he lie about sexuality? Then again, he did have amnesia and was making himself up as he went.

Jack flopped onto his back and lied down on the couch before letting out a soft _ow_ for forgetting about his ribs.

"You really ought to be a little more careful," Bruce commented.

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Would you kiss it and make it better?" he dared.

"If you're not gay then why do you insist on hitting on me?" Bruce grunted, the blood coming to his face again.

Jack chuckled once more as he threw his arm lazily over his eyes.

"Gay, straight, bisexual," he mused, "Does it matter? I'd probably still talk like this even if I was into sheep."

Jack lifted his arm to peek at Bruce.

"But to be clear," he said with mock seriousness, "I'm not into sheep. All right, Bruce?"

Bruce couldn't stand this. Enough of his life was about not knowing. Either Jack was gay or he was not. Just once, Bruce would like a clear and simple answer. Batman wasn't related to any of this so why shouldn't it be a clear and simple answer?

Bruce took a deep breath and sighed. There was only one way to get Jack to be straight with him and that was to do something incredibly not straight.

Bruce walked up to the couch, got on his knees and got close to Jack's face. Unfortunately, Jack had draped his forearm over his eyes again. He had no idea that Bruce was there.

_Damn it!_ _What's it going to take to get to this guy!_

Bruce assumed that if he invaded Jack's personal space, he'd defend it in one of two ways. Either he'd be embarrassed and more likely gay or he'd become annoyed and therefore more likely straight. Bruce wasn't one hundred percent sure that the theory made perfect sense but it was good enough for him.

Bruce's eyes couldn't help but focus on the fresh wounds on the side of Jack's lips. Bruce's fingers itched to touch them. They seemed unreal. They seemed misplaced. Bruce knew exactly where they belonged. They belonged on the Joker.

Jack noticed that Bruce hadn't said anything for a while. He wondered if maybe he'd left.

Bruce was still unclear about Batman and Joker's kiss. It was strange and it didn't feel right. More so it didn't exactly feel wrong. It could be best summarized as having been a crossed threshold. There'd been so much tension over time, so much rivalry and fight. Perhaps it had changed somewhere along the way. Maybe, just maybe–

Jack decided it was high time that he see where Bruce had disappeared off to. Wasn't it rude to just leave a guest on the couch? Who was going to tend to his wounds?

Jack blinked as he took his arm off of his face. When he opened his eyes, he was face to face with Bruce. Bruce had an intent look. It wasn't aging or sad, it was thoughtful and studious. Bruce didn't seem to notice or care that Jack's eyes had been revealed. He was much too in depth with his own thought process.

Jack was not a bad looking man. Sure, he was now the not so proud owner of a too wide smile but other than that he was quite attractive. Bruce had never found another man attractive, at least not actively so. Jack had curly brown hair and nice brown eyes. Bruce liked Jack's eyes. Even with the wounds, Jack had nice lips too.

_Maybe it's not just Joker..._Bruce pondered, could_ I be?_

Jack stared at Bruce silently. What was he doing? Why was he looking at him like that?

_Jesus! What do I do!_

Jack suddenly wanted to be far away. He wanted to be as far away as possible. Bruce wasn't supposed to do something like that. He wasn't supposed to be that close. It was all just a game wasn't it?

Bruce, very slowly, leaned in.

_What is he doing!_ Jack thought.

Bruce's breath was hot on Jack's lips. It was a slow moment in slow motion. Bruce came ever closer and Jack could do nothing against it.

_This is the only way to know._ Bruce encouraged himself as his heart pounded in his ears.

It was dead silent through the entire manor. Not one floorboard creaked. Not one bird chirped as Bruce's lips softly landed on Jack's mouth.

Jack promptly used all of his force to push Bruce off of him.

Bruce smacked into the table and felt the sting of rejection. Surprisingly, he hadn't really minded the split moment kiss with Jack. In fact, it was almost nice until Jack had more or less slammed him into the coffee table.

"That," Jack growled, "That hurt!"

Bruce paused.

_Did he just say–_

"It hurt?" Bruce asked, confused.

The kiss had been like a surge of electricity to Jack. It channeled right through his lips and zapped at his senses. He hadn't been ready for something like that. He didn't even know that something like that existed.

"Yes!" Jack hollered, "What gives you the right to just invade my space like that?"

Bruce probably would have taken this as proof of Jack being straight except for one thing.

"It _hurt_?" Bruce repeated.

Jack reached over and knocked on Bruce's skull.

"Hello? Is anyone in there? Yes! It hurt! Like this!" Jack went to slap Bruce across the face.

Bruce grabbed Jack's wrist before the hit reached him.

"If you didn't like it, that's all you have to say," Bruce pointed out.

"That's not it!" Jack said, "It just hurt!"

There was a pause as both men seemed to grasp a thought. Bruce had kissed Jack. Jack had admitted that his reaction was not because he didn't like Bruce kissing him. So it seemed that they were in agreement over something. Kissing each other was not necessarily an unlikable thing.

Jack's heart thudded away in his chest. It heaved back and forth rapidly. The kiss had hurt in a way but it didn't feel inherently painful. It was different. It was almost like feeling too much at once.

Jack leaned in slowly this time. Would it hurt if they tried again? Maybe they just needed to be prepared. If Bruce could take it then so could he, right? Besides, if Bruce won this, then Jack wouldn't be able to embarrass him anymore with homosexual flirting.

Bruce relaxed his grip on Jack's hand. So was that it then? Was he gay? His heart was racing. His blood was hot and pumping. It felt so similar to the way he felt after fighting Joker. Bruce felt as if he wanted to try again maybe even try more but...was it okay and did he really want to?

Jack allowed his lips to press against Bruce's. The electricity sparked but Jack was ready for it. It still hurt but it was oddly euphoric as the current surged inside him and wound itself around his beating heart. Yes, it hurt but–

_I like it._ Jack thought as his tongue poked out of his mouth and at Bruce's lips.

Bruce was a little surprised. Was Jack wanting...more?

_I–I can't. I can't do this!_ Bruce thought but even so, his mouth opened up.

It felt familiar and yet it was different. The fight between their tongues was now a dance. Gracefully they slid against one another. They transitioned slowly and gently from one mouth to another. It was smooth and tender.

Jack carefully got off the couch, careful not to break the kiss and kneeled in front of Bruce. His hands travelled up to Bruce's shoulders. Bruce's hands slid onto Jack's sides.

_It hurts. It hurts._ Jack almost felt as if he could scream at any second. _Love me. Damn it._

Bruce's tongue tasted blood as it made a quick travel across one of Jack's wounds. The shape of the mouth reminded him so much of Joker and yet, Joker seemed far away. Jack had his own smell, his own taste, even his own feel. Jack was reminiscent of Joker but Bruce didn't care. In that moment, he wanted Jack. Joker would have to wait.

Finally, the two pulled apart. Jack breathed heavily, his ribs aching from breath. Bruce's chest resounded with deep thudding.

Bruce didn't know what to say. His mind went through a list of possibilities:

_Thanks? Good job? Not bad? High five? Good game?_

_...I think I'd like to love you because I've never kissed or been kissed like that with or by anyone before you?_

Jack removed himself and sat back down on the couch. Bruce followed. There was a long moment of silence. What if it still hurt Jack somehow? What if Jack was one of those people who felt pain when touched by others? What if Jack really just didn't agree with it?

Jack suddenly clapped his hands which startled Bruce.

"Well," Jack said, "That answers two questions!"

"What?" Bruce asked.

Jack turned at him, unable to contain his full smile.

"We're both gay," he said with a shrug.

"I'm not…" Bruce tried to find a way to reword it.

"Straight? Heterosexual? Batting for the old team?" Jack offered deviously.

Bruce's face had turned red and stony again. Jack grinned. So he'd still be able to toy with him. Perfect.

Bruce didn't know what to say and all he could think about was how he didn't want Jack to leave.

"So, do you need somewhere to stay?" Bruce asked.

Jack snapped a look to Bruce with a raised eyebrow.

"Mother always said I'd grow up to be that kind of girl," he lamented.

"Stop that," Bruce commanded, still red.

Jack posed so that his chin rested on his hand.

"Hm," Jack pondered, "Well, I could always hang out with one of my other rich, handsome fuck buddies."

"We're not–"

Jack slapped Bruce on the back and gave it slight rub before winking at Bruce.

"I'll stay," Jack assured him.

Bruce smiled lightly. Jack stared at that wonderful smile of Bruce's and he had a sudden urge to kiss him all over again. Neither knew exactly what they started but it was too late to stop. It felt as if they'd rolled a snowball up to the top of the hill and had just barely let it fall over the other side.

Bruce got up quickly and went to the kitchen to make coffee for him and his new–

_Friend? Companion? Partner?_

Bruce didn't know what to call it but he knew it had to be called something one day.

"Hey, Bruce?" Jack called, "You got a TV somewhere in this museum?"

But today was not that day.

**A/N: Do you like fluff? Because I LOVE fluff. I think I might have jam packed it in this one because well-gosh darn it I needed it! Hope you guys liked this chapter. I can't wait to hear from you! : )**


	9. I Never Loved A Woman

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for your reviews last time! Chaoticjoker22389, I'm with you. I do so miss the Joker. Not that Jack isn't any fun. I like him but I miss Mr. J's grand antics. By the way, I had SO MANY typos when I first put this up but that was because I wrote it at two o'clock in the morning and my two o'clock in the morning mind was too excited not to post this. D:**

_I have a mansion._

_I have suits._

_I have this whole place_

_that once belonged to you._

_I have halls to wander_

_and a ceiling above_

_but I have no you_

_with which to-_

"...love," Jack said quietly, unable to write the word down on his paper.

Bruce had set up a desk in the guestroom where Jack was staying. Bruce had showed Jack the poem that he'd found on Jack when they first met. Jack was impressed but wasn't quite sure it belonged to him. Bruce had encouraged him to write. "The only way to know is to try," he'd said. "You just need to write something," he'd told him.

A week had passed and all Jack could think to write about was how lonely he felt.

Bruce was always busy. Jack supposed that it made sense but even when Bruce came home, he'd immediately take off into one corridor or another and the mansion was so big and complicated that Jack would be unable to find him. So Jack just sat in front of his desk trying to be inspired so that he could claim his supposed talent. Either that or he sat in front of the television trying to soak up as much information as possible.

Jack sighed and then stood up. Bruce hadn't sat down and talked to him for real since they'd kissed each other. If Bruce did decide to spare a few words with Jack, it was always about Joker. _Did you remember anything? Can you tell me where you were? Did Joker seem like he was up to something?_ Bruce was casual about it but it seemed incessant to Jack. If he didn't know any better, Jack would swear that Bruce had an obsession with Joker but, then again, what sense would that make?

The one thing Bruce did not want to talk about, or more importantly recreate, was the kiss between him and Jack.

Jack still wasn't sure just what it meant other than that he knew for himself that he was attracted to Bruce. Jack thought that it meant that Bruce liked him back but Bruce was so impossibly busy that Jack couldn't help but feel that Bruce was using that to avoid him.

Jack reached over to the phone on his desk. Bruce had given him his cell phone number in case of an emergency. Jack had, of course, rolled his eyes and asked if Bruce thought he was babysitting him. Bruce turned his sternness on as if on cue and made it clear that he just wanted Jack to be safe.

Jack dialed the number, having had enough of being given the run around, and waited impatiently.

Bruce was in the middle of a meeting at Arkham. He nodded his head quietly as Dr. Larynx led him through yet another hall that needed to be fixed up. Bruce was all too aware of how much work the place needed. He'd visited every night for the past week in his cape and cowl. The place was more or less falling apart. It was just a formality that he be there as Bruce.

_Not really, though. I volunteered for this..._ he thought as he sighed.

Bruce did not know what to do with Jack. Of course his instincts as Batman thought it best to keep him close and to question him but Bruce knew that it was more than that. Bruce liked Jack. He liked him so much so that he'd even gone and kissed him.

_That's right...I've kissed another man. I've willingly kissed another man...Oh dear God..._

Not only did the idea of being attracted to another man throw Bruce off but Jack had become interested in Joker and more important, Batman.

"Hey, Bruce!" Jack had called out one day, seeming to sense that Bruce had come home.

Bruce flinched a little. He hadn't wanted to go to Jack but it was too late to retreat. He'd have to sit down and attempt to talk to him. Bruce was frightened. Bruce was terrible at conversation. He was awful at it. Sure, he could charm the panties off of any lady he wanted but you didn't have to talk much to do that when you were a young, handsome multi-billionaire.

Bruce walked up the stairs and over to Jack's room. Jack was sitting there, in a wife-beater and jeans. He'd laid on his side, his legs casually crossed over one another. His dark brown, curly hair had tumbled into his face and his big brown eyes peeked up at Bruce.

Bruce had felt the sudden urge to turn tail and run. Jack was attractive but so much more so now that his body was clean and exposed. Jack had toned biceps. His calves were strong and sculpted in his jeans. Jack was somewhat lean but toned. Bruce admired the potential Jack had. He could make a good sparring partner.

He would also make a good lover and that had been the thought that made Bruce want to run like hell before he was lured and baited into doing something he wasn't even sure he wanted.

"Take a look at this," Jack said, his eyes still fixed on his television.

Bruce had trudged over half wanting to and half not wanting to. He stood by the bed and tried to get himself to look at the screen. Instead, his eyes were lingering on Jack, traveling from the soft curls down his back and abs and finally stopping at his firm, jean clad behind.

"It's okay," Jack had said, patting at the bed.

Bruce face got hot. Okay for or to do what exactly?

"Sit down," Jack had offered, pushing himself back enough to offer Bruce a spot on the small bed.

Bruce had taken the spot as the embarrassment overwhelmed him from the list of possible things that he thought Jack had offered him through patting the bed.

Bruce had finally got himself to look at the screen. They'd been showing a documentary of an investigation of Batman and Joker's relationship and Jack had called Bruce in just to see the end of it.

"I don't really like this channel," Bruce lied.

"I've been learning all day about Joker," Jack had said enthusiastically, "And the Batman guy. Apparently, they were enemies. Batman's this big hero guy!"

"Yeah," Bruce had replied, "I know of him."

"And then they kissed!" Jack had proclaimed, "It was– it was–"

"Misleading?"

"Beautiful!"

Bruce's heart had stopped dead. Jack thought it was what? Surely he hadn't heard him right.

"You thought it was beautiful?"

"Absolutely!" Jack had continued, "I mean, there the two of them are, hand to hand, fighting each other. Two great entities coming down to the usual fisticuffs! But it's more! So much more! Over the years of rivalry and constant battle, the two have entered a strange and torrid romance!"

Bruce hadn't wanted to hear another word and yet Jack wasn't so far off base. In fact, he was right on target. That seemed to be more or less the case except that the whole romance seemed to be one sided to Bruce. Batman hardly thought that he inspired anything in Joker other than the urge to go on a crime spree. Meanwhile, Batman was left with hours of thought and odd pains in his chest.

"It's the most beautiful love story I've ever heard," Jack had said quietly and to himself.

"How can you say that?" Bruce had become alarmed, "Joker is the one who did _this_ to you!"

Bruce had pointed to Jack's gaping scars which had healed fairly quickly. Jack glared a little.

"I said it was beautiful not perfect," Jack had answered, "And for the record, Batman seems to love Joker just fine even with a face like that."

Bruce had no idea what to say. Jack was right. Jack was wrong. Batman didn't love Joker. Not exactly. He kind of was in love with him. He was obsessed with him and sometimes he could sexually stimulate him but that–

Jack had been right but Bruce didn't want to accept it. More importantly, Bruce had hurt Jack's feelings and he had no inkling of how to fix them.

"You think anybody could like a smile like this?" Jack had asked playfully.

Bruce could. Bruce couldn't. Bruce wanted to. Bruce didn't.

"I could get it fixed...if you like?" Bruce had stumbled with his words.

Jack had an eyebrow raised skeptically.

"Nah," he'd answered, "They're a part of me now. I like them!"

There'd been a brief bit of silence. Bruce couldn't decipher Jack for the life of him. It was almost as if he wasn't all there. What normal human being liked having scars?

Jack's aura had become dark. His curls hid his eyes.

"They're ugly, I know," he'd said as one of his hands came up to touch the gaping scar, "But they're a part of me. I was hoping that maybe they're not that bad..."

"They're not," Bruce had slipped.

Jack had looked up and smiled at him. Bruce had wished that it would be the extent of Jack's gratitude. Couldn't it just be left at a comforting, friendly remark? A mere acceptance? It would be simpler. It would be so much simpler.

Jack had got up and began to lean into Bruce.

It was more than wanting things to be simple. The press would never let Bruce live down being in a relationship with a man. It could mean big shifts in the business not to mention a demanding advocacy for gay rights. So much more would be expected of him. He didn't need that. He didn't have time for it. But that wasn't it.

For some reason, Joker had made Jack a target whether mindlessly or for a reason. Bruce had made the mistake of speaking with Joker and God knows what resulted from that. If Bruce and Jack were to start something, wouldn't they be a prime target for Joker? It was too dangerous to start this. Yes, Bruce was scared but…

_I've already lost Rachel...I won't lose you._

Bruce had got up, claimed that he'd forgotten important papers in the car and walked away, leaving Jack both mystified and rejected. It was the only way. Bruce would have to stop the snowball in mid roll because, for everyone, it was too dangerous to let it keep rolling. There was no telling what it would break once it reached the bottom.

Bruce snapped back to reality as his cell phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at Dr. Larynx apologetically.

"Sorry it's a–" Bruce paused, embarrassed at how to refer to Jack, "An old friend."

Bruce stepped aside. His heart was pounding in his chest as he answered his cell phone. Was Jack hurt? Did someone break in? Had his condition worsened?

"Hello," Bruce kept his calm, "Is everything okay?"

"Who am I?" Jack asked.

Jack's voice was somewhat nasally but it was always like that. He sounded serious but not panicked. It was as if he was asking the location of something important, not his identity.

"You're Jack, remember?" Bruce answered quietly as he began walking away from Dr. Larynx, "Are you all right?"

"No," Jack said, "Who am I–_to you_?"

Bruce paused.

"I…" Bruce tried.

_I don't know._

"You're…" he continued to struggle.

_Something. Something really important. Someone I like. Someone I want to keep safe. I don't know! I DON'T KNOW!_

"–my friend," Bruce resolved.

There was silence on the other end. Then there was a loud noise as Jack slammed the phone down. Bruce dropped his cell phone because of it.

Dr. Larynx peeked around the corner.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, "I have much more to show you."

Bruce picked up his cell phone. He'd cracked it but he tucked it into his pocket anyway.

"It'll have to wait," Bruce said, "It seems there's an emergency."

Dr. Larynx tried to look sympathetic but instead he appeared disappointed. He'd found every single broken or damaged item and place within Arkham and he'd only gone through half of them with Bruce. He'd even made up some damages just to see if he could squeeze a few more thousands out of Bruce.

Bruce apologized and tried to keep his cool.

_Please don't do anything stupid!_ His thoughts rushed as he got into a cab, _I can't save you if you do something stupid! Please!_

Jack stood there, his breath heavy as he looked down at the phone. It was frail and plastic. It was nothing. It was nothing just like he was.

Jack grabbed the phone by its base, turned and threw it with full force at the wall. The phone smacked against it, then against the floor. Jack had ripped it out, cord and all.

Jack grabbed his coat and beanie, walked out of the room, then out to the corridor, out past the front door and the gates. He walked furiously down the long road continuing until he found himself in the city.

Jack had better than Bruce. Jack had led a better life than being the shut in _pet_ of some negligent, selfish rich guy. He'd led a better life than being a friend.

Jack had once had money, fame, and power.

Jack's mind flashed to an entire mountain of money. He watched as the cash rained down behind him as he slid down the entire mountain. It swiftly changed to the mountain burning. The flames danced gloriously, turning the green bills black as they consumed them.

_It's not about money. It's about sending a message; everything burns._

"Everything–" Jack tried to articulate the foreign thought.

The memories began to attack Jack at his core. It was like rediscovering them all over again only this time it was different. Jack bent, grabbing and pulling at his hair as he stumbled into an alleyway.

_Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!_

_I am an agent of chaos._

_Wanna know how I got these scars?_

Jack fell over, his body jerking and shaking uncontrollably.

_Like a dog chasing cars._

_Tonight, you're all going to be a part of a social experiment._

_Ee hee hee! AH HEE HEE HEE!_

And there it was, clear and still as an untouched pool of water, an image of the dark knight.

_You just couldn't let me go could you?_

The hero's muscles were outlined in black rubber. His cape was stuck in mid float from a breeze. His fists were balled tight, ready to strike.

_You just couldn't let me go could you?_

The dark knight was backed by the dark sky. It was endless. He was endless. They went on for an eternity. Perfect, incorruptible, and untouchable.

_I think you and I are destined to do this–_

_This–_

"Forever."

Joker stood up and wiped the saliva from his mouth. He looked around him, had a vague thought concerning where he was, before completely ignoring it and walking out onto the street. The only thing that mattered was getting back to his base and rounding up his men again. After all, he'd just escaped Arkham, right?

_Not like me to stop and take a nap though_, he thought as he looked back to the alleyway.

Joker hated walking around without his face on but he knew that it was a necessity to escape for the time being. He'd simply sneak into his new hideout and fix his face with the cosmetics he'd planted there later.

As Joker continued down the street, he flipped his collar up and pulled his beanie further down. He glanced to the left and saw a costume shop.

_Then again..._

Joker waltzed inside. The owner immediately looked at him warily. Joker did look like a hobo but that was done on purpose. Nobody pays any attention to homeless people.

_As long as they don't come into your stores to steal or ask you for your change right?_

Joker went straight up to the counter.

"Hello, sir," Joker greeted, "I was wondering if you carry any uh, makeup?"

The store owner took on a look of disgust.

"We don't do drag queens here," he snorted.

Joker laughed, the creepy giggle accented by the quick movement of his tongue going in and out of his lips.

"And I'm sure they don't do you," Joker commented, "But I was thinking something a little more clown related?"

The owner took a step back as his eyes settled on Joker's scars.

_Oh, he's delightful. Simply delightful._ Joker chimed.

"Hey, what's wrong with your face?"

"Oh it's nothing. Just–" Joker grabbed the store owner's head and slammed it against the counter, "forget it!"

Joker glanced at the back wall behind him. He perused his options for a moment, intent on making the best choice. He hummed a little as if he really was shopping.

Finally he selected a packet that contained his signature colors.

"How much?" Joker asked before glancing at the unconscious store owner, "Oh, right."

Joker pushed the slumped over owner and listened closely to hear the satisfying thud of his body hit the floor. Joker opened the package as he went out the door.

He paused for a second on the street and held a finger in the air. He nodded as if he'd forgotten something. He then opened the door and turned the sign to 'Closed'.

As Joker walked down the street, he did a bit of a hop and a skip. He smudged white face paint all over his face. He then closed one eye and rubbed black circles into his flesh. He did the same with the other taking care to have a good time and ignore the panicking pedestrians he was passing by. He shed his beanie, dug his fingers into the green and ran it through his hair like gel. Finally, it came time for the show caser.

Joker grabbed the little stick of red and smeared it across his lips, making sure to hit the points of his scars. He threw the entire set of makeup behind him and stopped to glance at his reflection. He ran his fingers through his hair and licked his lips.

"Hello beautiful!" he commented.

The people behind the window of the cafe promptly panicked as Joker shed his coat and swung it over his shoulder. Joker walked a bit more, enjoying the people he encountered running away for their lives. He paused in front Gotham State Bank and took a deep breath, which strangely hurt his ribs.

"It is good to be back," he grinned.

Gotham State Bank then exploded.

Joker was knocked over by the power of the explosion, his ribs aching from the contact of concrete. He pulled himself up to his hands and knees and looked back at the flaming building.

"I don't remember doing that," Joker said as he watched the flames.

A car horn suddenly honked at Joker and he looked up at it. Inside of the bank truck was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.

A woman with a white painted face and blonde pigtails stared at him, awestruck. Her little black mask framed her eyes perfectly. As she got out of the truck and rushed to the Joker's side, Joker took in the sight of her costume. Red and black splitting down a corset. Red and black split pants with diamonds in the alternating colors on the thighs. The flames behind her seemed to accentuate the madness of her appearance.

"Mr. J!" she cried in a thick Boston accent as she helped up the Joker.

"Harley?" Joker asked.

"In the flesh," she smiled as she lugged Joker to the truck.

"You are a vision," Joker commented, taking pauses between each word.

"Really?" Harley said as she took a cute pose and consequently dropped the Joker.

Harley was waiting for an answer. She looked down and saw her beloved Mr. J immobile and on the floor.

"Ah, shit!" she exclaimed as she helped him back up and into the truck.

Harley punched the gas and they took off down the street. The sound of police sirens were distant and growing more so. Joker stared at Harley, taking her in.

"You truly are beautiful," he commented, his tongue going for a lap around his lips.

"So you like it?" Harley asked, patting at a pigtail.

"Like?" Joker laughed, "Like doesn't even cover it! Now, I'm a big dreamer but this–I never expected this. I knew you were going to go mad but I figured you'd just shoot up your office and release the patients!"

"Eh," Harley shrugged, "That's kid stuff."

Joker was, in a word, proud. He'd really done a number with this one. He'd unleashed a fury that Harvey was never even capable of. Sure, Harvey had become seedy and vengeful before he died. Sad that he'd died so quickly. He was a real source of potential.

Harley on the other hand had decided to walk the line the Joker was walking. She'd donned a costume. She'd created a face. She'd exploded an entire building.

"So, do ya like your present?" she asked, excitedly.

Joker glanced at the truck.

"I'm not one for… monetary gifts," Joker pointed out.

"Oh, I didn't take the money," Harley corrected, "I just torched the place."

"My dear," Joker grinned, "I believe you are my _greatest_ accomplishment to date."

Harley let out a quick and soft squeal. If she hadn't been swept off her feet by Joker before then it was definite now.

Pamela on the other hand was not swept off her feet.

"Pamela," Dr. Woodrue said, "I'd like to thank you again for coming out to lunch with me."

"Of course," Pamela sighed.

Dr. Jason Woodrue was Pamela's boss. Dr. Jason Woodrue was an old, dirty man. Dr. Jason Woodrue was the man that held the position that Pamela wanted.

Pamela hated him with every vibe available in her body as she sat across from him at their table.

"Pamela–"

"Dr. Isley," Pamela finally corrected, "My professional title is Dr. Isley."

Dr. Woodrue put his hands up as if to surrender. He was in his mid-fifties at best. He had a full, thick head of hair but a skinny and unimpressive body. He was gangly, tall and nerdy. If he didn't have the position he did, he wouldn't dare to approach her.

"Dr. Isley," Dr. Woodrue continued, "I would like to invite you to partake in a little experiment."

"If you're hitting on me," Pamela retorted, "I'm not interested. I don't care if you're my boss."

Dr. Woodrue grinned. For such a feeble example of the male species, he was surprisingly confident.

"This is why I like you," Dr. Woodrue said, "You're powerful. You're strong. You're smart too."

"Do you have a point?" Pamela said, "I only agreed to come here because you said you'd tell me what the board is looking for in the next head of environmental protection and so far you've done nothing but gawk at me."

Dr. Woodrue gave her a charming smile. Pamela wanted to knock out his teeth.

"I could help you become the most powerful woman in the environmental department," he paused, "Or I could help you become the most powerful woman in the world."

_...he's kidding right?_

Dr. Woodrue appeared to be a lot of things. He was repulsive. He was cocky. He was somewhat awkward and yet strangely secure but he did not seem crazy.

"Excuse me?" Pamela asked.

"Think about it, Pamela," Dr. Woodrue elaborated, "Plants are the key to the world. If it wasn't for them, we wouldn't be able to breathe, you and I. They're everywhere from grand forests to little potted plants in apartments and offices. Have you ever looked at the studies that suggest that plants can _feel,_ Pamela?"

Of course Pamela had but even as she went to say that, her memory flashed before her; being at the hand of a mad man and crying out for help, screaming for help from anybody, from anything and then–

_They heard me..._

"Ah, I see you are a believer," Dr. Woodrue said cockily, "Imagine if we learned how to communicate with them. If we could guide them to our will. We could make the forests that people tear down something to be reckoned with. We could save thousands, no, millions of different foliage. And we could create better foliage to protect the lesser. That is if you'll help me."

Pamela sat there. Communication was possible. She knew it was. She'd done it before with the mutated plants she'd created. They _could_ hear and they _could_ feel. Pamela was all too aware but when she'd relocated, she tried to forget. If she went around rambling that plants could understand her, then she'd be unemployed and most likely committed and she couldn't let that happen. It was her intention to pay gratitude to the life that saved her by saving the lives that were like it. She'd declared a worldwide campaign for the brothers and sisters of her savior.

But lately it didn't seem to be going anywhere. Pamela was too afraid to grow the mutated plant again so she was purposely avoiding it with false experiments. She feared what Wayne Enterprises would do with it should they get a hold of it. So she wasted her days, watering her new friends while the rest of green earth cried out to be saved.

And here was Dr. Woodrue who was opening a door for Pamela. He was a distinguished scientist in the community. She'd even read some of his work back in college. He was brilliant; she had to admit that. He was offering her dream as well as providing a means of showing better gratitude to her rescuer.

"Pamela," Dr. Woodrue said softly, "You'd never have to answer or prove yourself to anyone ever again. You and I will become the most distinguished practitioners of the scientific community and we'll save the world from its ultimate death at the hands of mankind."

A series of questions had been flooding Pamela. Was what they were going to do legal? If not, then how illegal? Were they being funded? Did the company know? How exactly did Dr. Woodrue intend to go about these experiments? How long would it take?

"I want to help them," he added in a gentle whisper, "I only want to help those who can't help themselves. Will you join me?"

Pamela could not bring herself to utter a real confirmation but she did nod her head. Dr. Woodrue smiled. He brought up his glass and held it out to her for a toast.

"To our partnership," he announced.

Pamela bit her lip as she lifted her glass and felt the wine slosh out of the glass and onto her hand as she let it clink against Dr. Woodrue's.

She would complete her mission. She would fulfill her debt. She would do it by any means necessary.

**A/N: Aren't you guys glad to have Joker back? I know I am. ;) So here are some questions for you all: First and foremost, how'd you like this chapter? How do you feel about Dr. Woodrue? And is Bruce an idiot or what? JUST ACCEPT YOUR APPARENT GAYNESS! I MEAN YOU WEAR A CAPE AND RUBBER SUIT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Love you guys, bye!**


	10. Never Loved Any Man

**A/N: I wanted to give you guys an interesting fact or two whenever I open these up with my notes so here's the first one: I actually wrote up a basic plot outline for this story about two to three chapters into it and I intended to follow it...instead I just write the chapter my spontaneity wants me to write and I end up editing the plot outline instead. XD Also, I wanted to thank Molahsurey for her review mostly because of one particular phrase she used to describe it: "cleverly action packed". I've always considered myself a big fluff writer so hearing this made my day. :D**

_Encounter 1__ - Harley Quinn_

_There'd been rumors of a masked, clown-like woman circulating for some time now. Naturally, I investigated them but last month when I saw the clip of the harlequin suited criminal, I knew they were true. I had just begun my interrogations of lower members in the criminal infrastructure when the woman hijacked an entire news station. She looked like she'd come straight out of a comic book. She was perky, practically delighted, to announce that she'd taken over Arkham asylum and would soon broadcast a "very special experiment done by yours truly, Harley Quinn". She's got Arkham so heavily guarded and baited with traps that the police can't seem to get in. I've been keeping tabs on her live stream on my phone but she's yet to make a move. It looks like I'm going to have to show up myself._

Batman did not care to dispatch a copycat Joker. He was not thrilled at the idea of stopping the perky psychotic blonde, Harley Quinn. As Batman snuck into the building through one of the vent systems, he only felt the sudden droll and boredom that came with doing one's duty. He was only half present in his actions, playing them out. Batman had bigger concerns than Harley Quinn. He was more concerned about Joker's reaction to her.

Would Joker become defensive and jealous over his criminal style being hijacked in his absence? Would he try to outdo Harley Quinn in a madman's showdown? Or would he praise the attempt of super criminal psychosis and welcome her to his world? It was anyone's guess.

Batman's mind raced with possible outcomes as his body dragged along the vent. It was difficult trying to be quiet when you were a hulking hero in a bat suit. Sometimes Batman himself questioned how it was he was able to sneak up on people so successfully.

Batman's ears finally picked up on some sound. It was the high, somewhat grating voice of a woman chanting in a sing song fashion. Batman assumed it to be Harley Quinn and headed towards it much to his ear's discomfort.

Batman's phone buzzed from his belt. He retrieved it quickly.

_I'm not going to be late..._ Batman lamented as he watched the live stream of the video feed beginning to fuzz onto the screen.

Harley appeared. She danced into the camera's line of view, pigtails swirling and a gun being twirled between her fingers. She sang a short, made up tune that sounded like it could have been the theme to one of those old variety shows.

_She's...enjoying herself?_

It shouldn't have surprised Batman. Even the gangsters he used to beat up generally gained some sick sort of pleasure out of terrorizing people but Harley Quinn was different. If it weren't for the gun in her hand and the situation she'd created, you'd think she was just a carefree girl dancing around on Halloween. She smiled at the camera sweetly as she spun around once more, her hands held high above her head.

_She's just a kid..._

"Ladies and gents," Harley announced as she twirled over to the camera's center and waved, "Welcome to the show! I'm so glad you all could tune in for it! Just couldn't keep your eyes off me could ya?"

Harley spun the camera around. The henchman turned cameraman ducked too quickly for Batman to identify him. Harley walked out a bit with a spring in her step to fit her whole body into the shot.

"Take it away, Mr. J!" Harley announced.

_Mr. J? Who's Mr.–_

The shot was eclipsed by figure. As it distanced itself from its extreme close up, Batman could begin to make out details. First was a general color; purple. Then a jacket. A head of grungy greenish black hair. A bare hand shot towards Harley and seized her by the throat. He lifted her off the ground just enough to make her legs useless as they kicked. He dragged her ever closer to the camera and as he did so, there was no denying his wide mouthed, scarred grin.

_He's here..._ Batman finally concluded as his breath escaped his lips.

"This," Joker said to the camera as he forced Harley's face to the lens, "Is Harley Quinn. Do you want to know why she's dressed like this, hijacking your evening news, and being choked as we speak?"

Harley began gasping. Her face, even with the makeup, was beginning to shift colors as it desperately searched for oxygen.

_Is he going to kill her!_ Batman thought as he found a new sense of urgency and propelled himself forward.

"Well, I got to her," Joker grinned as he continued to shove Harley Quinn's face into the lens, "And now she's lost her pretty little mind."

Joker released Harley's throat. Harley dropped to her knees as she coughed and wheezed back in air.

Joker disappeared from the shot as Batman came closer to the source of the live stream. He felt relieved that Joker had released Harley. Killing a woman on live television would not bowl over well for Joker. Not that Batman thought Joker cared.

The camera panned down to Harley and she breathed heavily. The beautiful, disturbing, dancing girl was now replaced with this costumed victim. On her hands and knees, she sucked in as much air as humanly possible despite the whistling sound it made as it shambled down her throat and to her lungs.

"Look at me," Joker instructed sweetly and then harshly, "Look at me!

Harley tilted her face upwards towards the camera but her eyes lingered on the concrete. Joker's hand reappeared and took hold of one of Harley's golden pigtails. Harley winced from the sharp tug and a breathy yelp escaped her lips.

"She's never been more beautiful," he said, admiring his work.

Batman had watched the screen sporadically but his eyes lingered on Harley as he watched her face go from utter betrayal and fear to a gentle, tear stained smile. She was happy, not in that she was alive but that the Joker was pleased with her. Batman could almost feel the desire for approval radiating from the poor blonde's black framed blues.

"Today's special experiment involves one of the most established doctors in Arkham," Joker began.

Joker spun the camera to face Dr. Larynx. He was gagged and strapped down to a gurney. On one side of him was a tray of surgical equipment and to the other side, an electroshock therapy machine.

Joker turned the news camera back towards him, casually leaning an arm on top of it. The camera sunk down; getting a quick shot of his crotch at the same moment Batman glanced at the screen.

_Of course..._ Batman grunted.

Joker clumsily righted the camera and gave it a look.

"Now," he said, "I'm not going to think of a single thing to do with him. I won't lay a hand on him out of my own will. No, I'm going to take... _requests_."

Batman paused in mid crawl.

"I'm going to let you tell me what to do with him. Maybe not you exactly. Maybe your neighbor across the street or on the second floor. Your boss or your spouse. Maybe even your own children."

"Connected to the snuff site Mr. J!" Harley chimed off screen.

Joker smiled.

"First request?" he asked.

Batman kicked out the vent grate and as it was clattering against the floor, he landed expertly on top of it to silence it. Joker looked over his shoulder somewhat startled by the entrance but then delightfully surprised.

Batman had dropped in from the very shadows and stood in there in all the beauty and intimidation the bat was known for.

"How about letting him go?" Batman grunted, his voice all gargled marbles and gravel.

"Ah, Batman," Joker grinned, "Did you miss me? I missed you."

Batman ran straight up to Joker and punched him right in the gut. A sudden rush overcame Batman. The adrenaline began to race through his system as his fist made contact with Joker's body. It only heightened as Joker's hand grabbed at Batman's fist. It felt good. It felt right as Joker's laugh ringed in Batman's ears and the sensation of the landed hit traveled up Batman's arm. It'd been too long.

Harley leaped at the bat attacking her beloved Mr. J. She ran up and tackled Batman's back and wrapped her arms around his neck and began choking.

Joker stood in front of Batman, triumphant without having to lift a finger. Joker smiled at Batman.

"Good to see you again, Bats," Joker said, his tongue slowly caressing his lip.

"Cant…say- the- same- to you!" Batman struggled as he managed to throw Harley off of him.

Harley's back smacked against the wall and she landed, unconscious on the floor. Batman looked over his shoulder. He hadn't meant to be that rough with her but then again he typically didn't fight women. Joker ignored his wounded partner completely and instead looked at Batman. He gestured his hand towards Dr. Larynx.

"Well?" Joker asked, "What are you waiting for? Take him."

Batman raised an eyebrow at Joker but went to free Dr. Larynx. The struggling, muffled Dr. Larynx squirmed as Batman untied him, starting with the gag.

"Look out!" Dr. Larynx cried.

Batman turned around too late and saw nothing but a blur of dark metal and heard the deafening sound of it hitting his skull. Batman went straight down, dazed from the hit.

"Aw, Bats" Joker said apologetically, "Did you really think I'd let you go so soon? We've got unfinished business."

Joker dragged Batman and propped the upper half of Batman's body against the wall. Batman watched as Joker blurred in and out of focus. Joker took a seat on Batman's lap, chest to chest and face to face. He stared him down with unwavering seriousness. The position wasn't uncommon for them but it suddenly felt unnaturally still.

"You and I have been doing this for quite some time," Joker said as a matter of fact, "But the other day we seem to have crossed a line. Are you listening to me?"

Batman was dazed but listening. To make sure, Joker punched Batman in the face just to get his attention. The hit furthered Batman's disorientation and the dark knight had to concentrate just to keep his face turned towards Joker.

"Oh I like that," Joker smiled as he examined his own fist, "Is that how it feels for you when you hit me? It's nice."

Droplets of dark red emerged from Batman's stony face. They trickled from the corner of his lip and down his chin. Joker reached for the foreign substance and let the liquid turn lighter as it spread over his fingertips.

Joker turned his face over to the camera but it was pointed elsewhere. He shrugged and slid his bloodied fingers into his mouth. To Batman, it seemed to happen in slow motion. Joker's two fingers sensually entered to red rimmed lips. Batman could just see Joker's tongue linger as the digits made their exit.

"So the Bat does bleed," Joker said, his tongue making clicking noise as he sampled the blood.

Joker reached for the last bits of blood on Batman's otherwise perfect face. Joker smeared the blood into Batman's skin, enjoying the red taking over the Bat's features. It wasn't enough to lightly cover much more than his cheek but Joker was determined to make due anyway.

Joker didn't have any meaning behind it. He knew that Batman bled. After all, Joker himself bled so why wouldn't Batman? Joker hadn't even really wanted to hit Batman over the head or punch him in the face. He was just looking for excuses, especially the craziest ones, to touch Batman. It too had been too long for Joker.

Batman grunted as Joker dug his fingers into Batman's face. He was rubbing him too hard. His face was already sore from the hit he'd just delivered. Again, Batman was surprised at the amount of Joker's physical capability. He really had been toying with him all these years.

Batman reached up and grabbed Joker's wrist. His head was still reeling as he held the wrist tightly. He tried to give Joker an intimidating look and remove the hand but he couldn't. Batman managed to move Joker's hand slightly but his daze forced him to collapse his face back into Joker's palm. His hand slid down Joker's arm as defeat sank in.

Joker took his hand back awkwardly. It wasn't like Batman to give up so easily. It defied tradition. Joker's moment of logistics came and went though. If Batman was giving up a little it was an opportunity and Joker would make use of it.

Batman slouched over and his face crashed against Joker's chest. Batman took in the scent of him; grease, explosives, and cigarettes. It was disgusting and oddly enough, it smelled like home.

"Finally give into my boyish good looks, Batman?" Joker teased, "It's the hair isn't it?"

Joker almost felt like putting an arm around Batman. Almost. Instead he giggled lightly as the hero rested on his chest. His mind drifted through the possibilities of the situation at hand. With Batman half in and half out, Joker could easily turn the camera back towards them and get some real rumors started.

Joker looked down at Batman, the points of his cowl tickling his face. Maybe Joker didn't want to start rumors. Maybe he didn't want the people of Gotham staring them down. Maybe he wanted a moment, this moment, and nothing more.

Batman was beginning to come to and he did not like the situation unfolding before him. He'd had enough of Joker making these psychotic sexual advances. Batman didn't know what to do with them. Batman used all of his focus to grab Joker and shove him off.

Joker looked up at Batman and held up his hands, as if to calm the dark knight.

"You're right. You're right," he said with his hands still up, "It was my smile that won you over, wasn't it?"

Batman grabbed Joker by the collar and slammed him up against the wall.

"Enough, Joker!" Batman growled, "Why do you keep doing this to me?"

Joker cocked his head to the side as he chuckled, half nervous and half giddy.

"Doing what?" he asked.

Batman slammed Joker against the wall again. A look of pain flashed across Joker's face and he shut his eyes as his nerves adjusted.

"What do you want from me?" Batman continued to bellow, "This!"

Batman kissed Joker hard against the mouth. As Batman pulled away, his teeth were bared, like an animal ready to attack. Batman went back for another crude kiss. It wasn't enough. His angry lips crashed against Joker's cheek, his jawline, and lastly his neck.

"B-Bats," Joker tried to break the moment, "Now hold on a minute–"

Batman bit Joker's neck which prompted Joker to gasp. Batman's tongue slid over the flesh pinched between his teeth.

_This is–_ Joker's mind scrambled for a conclusion, _I-I want–_

Batman hated himself. He was tired and desperate. He wanted answers to the Joker by any means necessary. He wanted to stop feeling strange and thinking uncomfortable thoughts. He just wanted some peace; a damn resolution to why Joker and Batman were like this and what _this_ really was.

Joker could feel the skin start to bruise. Joker's arms ached to reach for Batman's body but they stayed still. Joker knew that this was no dream. It was real and it was too real. Reality felt good but God did it hurt. It hurt in a way that Joker didn't quite understand.

Joker wanted more. He wanted everything. The sensation from his dreams had come to life and once more he felt the spontaneity of his heart shout for more. He'd do anything, at least damn near anything, to strip himself and his hero down to the skin.

Batman pushed his body against Joker's. It was wrong to be like this. It was wrong to beat the shit out of each other one minute and then partake in passionate foreplay the next. It didn't make sense to Batman. Batman should be able to make sense out of anything, but Batman didn't give a damn about sense in that moment. All he could think of was how much he hated himself for this and how he'd never felt so liberated in his entire life.

Harley moaned in the corner as she began to regain consciousness. Batman broke from giving Joker a love bite and glanced over his shoulder at Harley.

Joker's breath was heavier than it'd ever been as Batman analyzed the waking Harley. Why had he stopped? Joker didn't want him to stop. He wanted the opposite of stop. He wanted to go and go and keep going.

Batman turned back to Joker. They gazed at each other for a moment. Pain and pleasure was evident between them along with a heavy sense of exhaustion. Batman slowly put Joker on his feet and backed away. Batman's eye caught the blotch of red on Joker's neck. Batman had done that. Batman had done that and it was just sinking in.

Batman turned away quickly, his cape fluttering over his shoulder. Joker watched him, not moving a muscle. Batman had surprised him. He'd also disappointed him.

Batman ran over to Dr. Larynx, who'd been watching silently the entire time. Dr. Larynx stared at Batman with confusion and disgust. Batman ignored it, untied him and led him to the vent.

Harley had reached a crawl. She glanced over to check on Joker but he stared as Batman grabbed Dr. Larynx by the waist and used the bat grapple to pull them up and into the large vent opening.

Harley crawled over to Joker and tugged on his pant leg as she tried to lift herself up. Joker didn't bother to assist and soon enough Harley struggled up to a stand. Joker stared into the vent. He wanted to go after Batman. In all the time that they've been in their ongoing battle Joker had not once chased Batman. Sure, he lured Batman and he baited him but he never chased him. Joker was the chasee in this relationship but Joker had the desperate impulse to find a way into that vent, find the means to track the Bat, confront him, and–

"Mr. J," Harley now pulled at Joker's sleeve as a police with a mega phone demanded their surrender, "We got to get out of here."

Joker gave a slight nod and Harley went over to the large sewer grate and lifted it with all her might.

"Ha!" she said with satisfaction as the grate landed with a thud.

Harley Quinn jumped gracefully down into the sewer. Joker followed, giving half frantic looks over his shoulder now and then. He continued down the steps of the sewer ladder but looked up once more to the darkened ceiling that his Batman had disappeared into.

"Up you go," Joker said quietly to himself before looking down at the stink and darkness that awaited him, "And I below."

"Could you explain to me just what that was?" Dr. Larynx finally shouted now that Joker and Harley had disappeared down into the sewers.

Batman put his hand over Dr. Larynx's mouth, shoving him against the side of the vent. No, Batman could not answer what that was. He had no idea where to being with what that was. Even if did, he didn't want to answer what it was.

"It's nothing," Batman growled.

Dr. Larynx's eyes grew wide. Batman's voice was too low to be natural but the gravel like sounds that made up his speech frightened him nonetheless.

"You speak to no one about this!" Batman commanded, "Ever!"

Dr. Larynx nodded. He didn't need to be told twice. If the scary man in the bat suit said to keep his mouth shut then he'd do just that. Besides, if Batman made a threat over it, Dr. Larynx could only imagine what Joker's response would be. Dr. Larynx just wanted to forget all of it. He'd had enough of crazy people. Batman let go of Dr. Larynx.

"I think I'm going to retire," Dr. Larynx thought aloud.

"Good idea," Batman stated as he grabbed Dr. Larynx by the shoulders.

Batman jumped back down into the room and released Dr. Larynx.

"Police will be here shortly," Batman said before grappling back up into the darkness.

Sure enough, as Batman disappeared, officers arrived. Dr. Larynx held up his hands, confused, scrambled, and resolute in his decision to retire.

On the other end of Gotham, Pamela was more than ready to retire. She was about ready to die. At least, she felt like she was dying.

"Just one more injection, Pamela," Dr. Woodrue coaxed as he held the syringe up.

Pamela brought her arms up to her torso. They looked like they'd been attacked by a small swarm of mosquitoes. Pamela felt like vomiting every two minutes and passing out every other minute.

"No, I can't take another," Pamela said as she pushed herself to get up, "And for the last fucking time, it's Dr. Isley."

"Dr. Isley," Jason tried to persuade her, "These injections will make it easier for us to communicate with the test subjects. If we continue to introduce their genetics into our system–"

"–then we may be able to incorporate the genetics behind their language into us," Pamela finished for him, "You know the more I hear it the more it sounds like a crackpot theory. I don't know why I ever bothered with that theory in the first place. You're just grasping for straws."

Pamela took a few steps towards the door. It felt like each foot had a cement shoe on it. It hurt to move. It hurt to even breathe at this point. Pamela no longer cared about Dr. Woodrue's grand plan to save the world. If she didn't get herself to a doctor soon, then she wouldn't be able to save anything.

"Please, Dr. Isley," Jason tried again, "reconsider. I too have been receiving these injections. We've both been suffering for this great cause."

Pamela turned around, her head spinning as she did. She glared Dr. Woodrue.

"If you're receiving the same injections as me then why are you perfectly fine and I'm sick as hell?" Dr. Isley confronted.

Dr. Woodrue stood up from his seat at their lab slab and walked over to Pamela.

"You need to rest a little," he said as he reached for her arm, "A few days of sleep and I'm sure you'll be just as excited about this as you were the first day."

"Answer the question!" Pamela shouted as she pulled away from him, "Why am I so sick and you're okay?"

Dr. Woodrue looked defeated. He sighed and sat back down in his seat. He buried his face into his hands. He suddenly looked older to Pamela.

"The truth is," he said as he hid in his palms, "I've been giving myself lower doses."

"What?" Pamela hissed.

"I'm old, Pamela!" Dr. Woodrue shouted, ringing his hand in the air, "If I took the same amount as you, I'd be dead before a second injection!"

"But it's okay for me?"

"No!" Jason shouted and got up from his chair again, "Of course not! I just… I misjudged how powerful these extracts were. I thought that such a strong, young woman like you would be able to handle them but I've miscalculated."

Dr. Woodrue put a hand on Pamela's shoulder. He looked down at the punctures in Pamela's skin. He took Pamela's wrist in his other hand and got a better look at them. He dropped her arm gently and took a step away from her.

"What have I done to you?" he whispered before his eyes met with Pamela's, "I am so sorry, Pamela..."

Pamela stared at Dr. Woodrue. He was a shamed man but that didn't mean he wasn't apologizing for a reason. He just wanted Pamela to accept the apology and join him again. He was just saying sorry to get to what he wanted.

"Walk away from this," Dr. Woodrue said suddenly, "Please, it's much too dangerous to go on. You'd be safer if you just left me to my madness, Dr. Isley. Walk away."

It wasn't a demeaning or sarcastic statement. Jason genuinely meant it.

_A man who's telling me...to save myself..._

Pamela turned away from Dr. Woodrue. So what if he'd made a real apology absent of ulterior motives? He'd still made her sick with injections. He was still conducting experiments that made little sense. He was a madman.

As Pamela headed for the door, one of the rapid growth plants reached out for her ankle. It stretched for her, tickling the back of her leg. Pamela tried to ignore it but she couldn't. She stopped and the vine wrapped around her ankle, embracing her. It was begging her not to go. Pamela could feel it pleading with her.

_I can't just leave them. I can't._

The plant seemed to understand this and released Pamela's ankle. Pamela turned to face Dr. Woodrue who'd sat back down and had his back to her. Pamela smiled a little. Dr. Woodrue was a little like the plants. He was more or less defenseless but brazen, crawling all over the walls and not making very much sense.

"You were over enthusiastic," Pamela said, her voice waking Jason from his presumed isolation, "But I want more details on these injections and I want them at lower doses, is that understood?"

Dr. Woodrue turned around and smiled at Pamela. For an older guy, he had a handsome smile. It was pleasant. Pamela could almost admit that she even liked it.

"Of course!" Dr. Woodrue said in celebration, "Of course!"

Pamela reached down and gave the vine a little pat. It lovingly twirled around her fingers. Pamela had to stay, not for Jason, but for them. Pamela knew that she charmed people and Jason had once said that she seemed to do the same with the plants but Pamela didn't believe it. The plants and Pamela were one. They needed her and she, in her own way, needed them.

Joker on the other hand, was not charmed by Harley nor did he need her.

Harley pawed outside Joker's door, like a pet desperate to get in. She was always doing that. Joker hated it. He just wanted to be left to himself.

"Mr. J?" Harley called, "Mr. J, are you in there? Can you hear me?"

Joker had enough. He opened the door slowly. He tried to take a casual stance in the doorway but Harley barreled right past him. She did a cartwheel before sitting down on Joker's bed. Joker sighed and sat beside her. He clapped his hands together as he tried to find a way to tell her how he felt.

"Harley," Joker addressed her, "I know I've been this big inspiration and all. I'm flattered. Really–"

"Mr. J," Harley said as she brought her legs up to her chest, "I've been thinking."

_Shocker,_ Joker amused himself.

Harley had scrubbed the makeup off her face for the night. She had on a silky, short, red night gown. Her hair was wet from a shower. She was more or less bare in front of Joker. She was just Harleen Quinzel now. No Harley Quinn. No mask. No deviance. Just a young woman with a warped mind.

"What's going to happen after this whole criminal life thing?" Harley asked as she leaned against Joker.

Joker looked at her, confused.

"Thing?"

Harley nodded once, nuzzling a bit into Joker's arm.

"I mean," she continued, "Eventually we're going to get too old for all this. We can't be robbing and terrorizing all the way into our seventies and eighties."

Aging had never occurred to Joker. He wasn't even aware of aging. He didn't have the common ideology that age was just a number. Age wasn't even a number. Age was none existent. Joker's world was made up of two things; Batman and chaos. Time applied to neither.

"So I figured what if we took off a little early?" Harley proposed, "We could teach others how to expose humanity. You know, like leaving a legacy? We have a couple of kids one day..."

Harley drifted away as she daydreamed. She could see it now, she and Joker would have a few kids, maybe even steal a couple. They'd raise them right and teach them how the world really is. The duo would become a family team. Harley could even make little costumes for them.

Joker stuck a finger in his ear, twisted it and wiped the content on his pant leg.

"Run that by me again?" Joker requested.

"What? Oh. Kids?" Harley said dreamily, "It's just a thought. We could adopt if you want."

"Harley," Joker approached the subject as carefully as he could, "We're not together. I don't even like you all that much."

Harley was already half asleep on Joker's arm.

"A family, Mr. J," Harley said sleepily, "I know it's not your thing but it could be. Besides, I think even you want something normal."

_Something...normal?_ Joker pondered.

A sudden pain pierced Joker in the gut. He fell to his knees as the pain gripped him. Harley immediately woke up.

"Mr. J!" Harley cried.

Joker forced himself to stand to his feet. He refused to look weak and out of control in front of anyone, especially a nuisance like Harley. Harley wasn't even supposed to be there. Joker didn't need nor did he want a sidekick. He'd only kept her around with the hopes that she'd one day strike out on her own. Then the real fun could begin.

"Mr. J, sit down!" Harley tried to instruct, "I'll go get something to–"

Joker grabbed Harley by the hair. He pulled her to the door and then threw her out. She was so determined to take care of him and yet her constant doting only made him feel sicker. Joker locked the door behind him. He half dragged himself to the bathroom and ignored Harley banging on the door. Her pleas faded away as he shakily gripped the sink.

_Something–_

Joker's mind pulsated as a series of voices assaulted his mind. They were foreign and known but they sped by so quickly that he couldn't think about them. The voices hurt, exerting an unknown force as they uttered the unthinkable.

Joker's dream of Batman unmasking him flashed in his head and overlapping it was another scene. One that looked like it was familiar even though it wasn't. There was a handsome man's face but it couldn't be defined. Joker's mind wouldn't let it.

_That-that hurt!_

_Love me. Damn it._

_I'll stay._

_Something..._

Joker looked up to the ceiling as a terrible yell escaped his mouth. It was unbridled as it reached up to the roof. Joker couldn't hold it anymore. Whatever was happening was painful. It was more than painful. It was excruciating.

_You stared into the night sky._ _You watched that same spot for hours until they tore you away. You love the Bat. You love. You are capable of love. Love is normal. You're normal._

Jack breathed heavily. His knuckles had turned white from gripping the sink so hard. He detached himself slowly from it. He looked up in the mirror to see the Joker's face peering back at him.

"I'm not normal," he said as he reached to turn on the sink.

Jack put his hand underneath the water. With his wet hand, he wiped half the makeup off his face. The colors were runny against his bare skin but at least he could see himself. He glanced down to the hickey and sighed.

"But I want to be."

**A/N: All right, I know you guys love Joker (who doesn't?) and even though Jack's back, Joker will return pretty soon again. Thanks to Grace for her avid support in her last reviews. :) I'm going to break for the night, maybe do some college homework...nah.**


	11. I Longed For A Concept

**A/N: And there was much sadness and sorrow as Kira did not get a single review between the last chapter and this one. Now, anybody who bothers to reads these knows that I decided not to be a review whore because I love writing too much but that doesn't mean reviews don't help. Hearing a new, "Keep it up!" or "Update soon!" makes me very enthusiastic, and I more or less start a new chapter right after I read the encouragement. I will never ask for a review quota from you guys but I do like seeing them.**

**Warning: There is sex in this chapter. And it is delicious.**

Bruce sat in the guest room for the hundredth time. His eyes warily glanced at the phone that still lied clattered on the floor. He couldn't bring himself to pick it up. He didn't want to pick it up. He'd even told his cleaning crew to leave this particular room untouched.

Bruce sat on the guest bed holding a piece of paper in his hands. It was kept in near mint condition, the pencil marks un-smudged and the paper almost unwrinkled. There were two small indents on the sides and they were the exact size of Bruce's thumbs. He held the paper the same way each and every time he picked it up from the desk and sat on Jack's bed.

"I have a mansion," Bruce whispered to himself.

Bruce was unlike Batman in so many ways. Batman was a man of action. Bruce was not. Bruce was a man who, upon having one solitary sad thought, would spiral into void of depression. It was inevitable for Bruce. He'd lost so many loved ones. He had no one. His lifestyle wouldn't allow it.

"I have suits," Bruce continued.

Bruce hardly felt like Batman. Then again he hardly felt like Bruce either. They were both made up. Batman was a caped crusader trying to fix the world and Bruce was a playboy business man trying to hide the Bat. Neither was capable of being lonely. Neither felt pain or sorrow. Bruce was tired of trying to pin his emotions to either identity but if he didn't then who did that leave him to be when he was alone?

"I have this whole place that once belonged to you."

It was as if he was a child again. As a boy he felt a great many things. He felt fear and pain. He felt healing and trauma. He felt the need for love. Granted, Batman had strange urges towards Joker but they felt surreal to Bruce now. They didn't even register. Joker? Isn't that a card in a deck? Batman? Who's that?

"I have halls to wander and a ceiling above."

It had been years since Bruce lived in the mansion. It'd taken quite some time for it to have been reconstructed. So much of it had been destroyed but it had been rebuilt. Bruce had difficulty recognizing some of the new rooms. He hardly went into them. He had no need to. Bruce was more interested in the old rooms where his memories were. When it came down to it, all Bruce had of his real self were his memories.

"But I have no you with which to–"

Bruce had run out of text. The writer had stopped there. Bruce knew what word was supposed to be there. The list of words that rhymed with 'above' was short. He couldn't bring himself to say it though. It was a terrible word. The word meant death to Bruce because in the end it was what it gave.

"Master Bruce," a voice said as a gloved hand slid onto Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce turned over to look at Alfred. Bruce sighed.

"I fell asleep on Jack's bed again, didn't I?" Bruce asked.

Alfred gave a nod. His hand felt warm and weighted on Bruce. It was almost as if he was real but Bruce knew better. Alfred had placed his hand on Bruce's shoulder so many times that it wasn't a struggle to imagine it.

"I'm concerned for you," Alfred said, his prim and proper voice hinting towards sympathy.

"I know, Alfred," Bruce said as he stared back at the page, "I'm worried about me too."

"I was afraid this was going to happen, sir," Alfred continued, "It seems that you've truly succeeded in separating yourself."

"But Alfred, I-"

"Don't know who you are?" Alfred interrupted, "Bruce, you are who you are. I wish you would see that."

"But who am I supposed to be Alfred? Which one of them is this?" Bruce questioned as he gestured to himself.

Alfred shook his head. Bruce hated that. It meant that Bruce either didn't get something or Alfred was disappointed in him. Often it meant both.

"I don't know what to do anymore. If I keep going like this, I'm going to lose myself. I don't want to be lonely, Alfred. I can't live like this."

Bruce waited for a reply. The weight of Alfred's hand disappeared as Bruce looked over his shoulder and saw the Alfred had disappeared with it.

"Damn it, Alfred!" Bruce shouted as he woke up.

Bruce pulled himself up from Jack's bed. He hated when his dreams were like that but his dreams were based off of reality. Both dream Alfred and the real Alfred shared the tendency to never directly answer Bruce. They wanted him to figure it out on his own.

Bruce jumped as the doorbell sounded throughout the house. It was rare that it ever rang but when it did there was no ignoring it. It was like a bell ringing in a church.

Bruce got up and took one last glance at the poem resting on the desk before jogging down the stairs to open the front door. It was rare for Bruce not to catch a visitor. Often he'd see them on the Batcave's computer monitor when they pressed the button to open the front gates.

As Bruce went down the stairs, he couldn't help but think of how alone he felt. Bruce seemed to find himself in others whether it was Rachel or Alfred. Now that Bruce was friendless and loveless it was as if the axis of his very identity was gone. Perhaps that's why he dreamed of Alfred every so often. Alfred always put him on the right track. He had been the guru of finding the medium for the now. Rachel had been Bruce's future. She was what Bruce would return to one day. Now that they both were gone Bruce was lost in his past and felt he'd be alone for the rest of his life.

What was worse was that Bruce had managed to drive away the only person he'd connected with since. Jack had become frustrated with Bruce and rightfully so and Bruce couldn't stand himself for it. He knew it wasn't just the awkwardness of their relationship. He'd wanted to protect Jack but protecting him meant pushing him away.

_I'd give anything to explain it to you but you wouldn't understand. No one ever does..._

Bruce approached the front door, not having the time to check his monitors. Carelessly, he opened the door and on the other end of it was Jack.

"Hi," Jack said apologetically.

Before Bruce knew what he was doing, he threw his arms around Jack. Bruce's heart cried out apologies as it banged against his ribs. He almost thought that Jack had been another dream but no dream was this real.

Jack flinched as Bruce embraced him. He hadn't expected that. He'd expected a demand for an apology considering that he ripped Bruce's phone from the wall. He maybe even expected to be told to get lost since they were _just_ _friends_ and Jack had more or less gone into a mental break down.

Jack's arms were lifeless at his sides. He couldn't bring them up to hug Bruce back. He was too surprised. He knew what he'd come for but he hadn't expected Bruce's embrace this soon if at all.

Bruce pulled away awkwardly as his mind finally caught up to his actions. He took in Jack's expression; mild confusion. Bruce suddenly felt like he was a pervert for throwing himself at Jack. Maybe Jack didn't want Bruce holding him that way. Perhaps he was still angry with him. Or maybe he'd gotten over him.

"So," Jack said, "I'm guessing that means you're not angry that I broke your phone?"

"Phone?" Bruce asked, "What phone–Oh, um, no. Of course not."

_So the phone doesn't even matter?_ Jack thought. _Nice, I'm off for that at least!_

"Do you think that I could maybe come in?" Jack asked, leaning into the doorway.

Wordlessly, Bruce opened the door more and stepped to the side. Jack entered and Bruce watched him carefully. Already his mind was trying to analyze Jack's coming back. He wanted the poem back? No, he would have brought it up first. He wanted to apologize for the phone? He already did that so why would he come in?

Bruce followed Jack to one of the lounge rooms. It was the one with the large unlit fireplace. Bruce wondered if Jack liked it. Jack took a seat on the plush, red, velvet couch with ease and comfort. It was as if he'd taken a seat in his own home. Bruce sat beside him unsure of what to say.

"Bruce," Jack began, "I've been doing some thinking. I know that you're rich and busy and I know that this kind of relationship is new to you. It's new to me too."

_Please stop this,_ Bruce said in his thoughts, _don't do this. Don't give me this._

"I don't know how this works. I think there's supposed to be dating and getting to know each other but I tried something the other day," Jack continued.

Bruce took a temporary pause from his pleading. What exactly was Jack talking about? Maybe this wasn't a confession after all.

Jack took off his long coat and tilted his chin up, revealing two large hickeys on his neck.

"Are those…?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah," Jack nodded, "And there's more as you go down."

Bruce no longer knew where Jack was going with this. Was he trying to hurt Bruce? Had he moved on?

"You see, I found myself in a club last night," Jack began to explain.

Jack, feeling a bit lost in Gotham, had stumbled into a night club. The bouncer had fallen asleep though Jack barely noticed. He slipped in undetected among the crowd of gyrating, dancing people. Jack got hot in the sea of people and managed to break free of it at the bar.

Jack stared at the drinks. The heat had gotten to him and he'd do damn near anything for a drink. He was even tempted to hop over the counter and fix himself one. A beer came flying down the counter, and the next thing Jack knew he'd intercepted it and began guzzling it down.

"Excuse me," a woman said, "I believe you're drinking my beer."

Jack turned to look at the woman. She was short, coming up to Jack's chest. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, sharp and square cut. Beneath the nose was a pair of full lips pulled into an irritated pout. Her dark blonde hair came down around her face in straight shafts casually hanging above her shoulders. She was pretty to look at. Perhaps not 'model out of a magazine' pretty but certainly pleasant enough.

"Well, if you buy me another I just might let you take me home," Jack said as he tried to slug the beer down.

The woman reached out and grabbed the glass from Jack. The beer sloshed out and spilled on the floor.

"The only beer you'll be getting," the woman said coldly, "Is whatever you can lick off the floor."

Jack frowned at her. Here Jack was on a mission to be more normal and yet he'd met this woman in a rather strange way. He was failing in his new experiment to blend in with society.

"Wait," Bruce interrupted Jack's story, "Why would you want to blend in with society?"

"Well," Jack answered, "Where else am I supposed to go?"

Bruce was dead silent. The quiet hung in the air for about five seconds before Jack took a deep breath.

"Don't answer that. Let me finish."

Jack had felt as if he failed upon arrival. Taking people's drinks apparently was not proper social behavior but maybe Jack could still salvage the situation.

"Is it so wrong for a woman to buy a man a drink?" he asked.

The woman rolled her eyes as she slammed the empty cup back on the counter.

"No," she replied, "but it is wrong to steal another person's drink. What's wrong with you?"

"I'm broke and I have no idea what I'm doing here," Jack answered without hesitation.

Jack expected the woman to walk away but instead she stared at him. His honesty seemed to have granted him her attention. Jack looked her over again. She had enormous cleavage. It seemed to be busting from her low cut top. Jack wondered how he'd missed that.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Jack."

"I'm Grace," she introduced herself before turning to the bartender, "Two vodka shots!"

"What happened to beer?"

"Fuck beer," Grace said, "I'll be honest, Jack. I don't know what I'm doing here either but the hell with it. We're here. Let's drink."

The first pair of shots arrived and Jack felt the burn of hard liquor crawl down his throat. It tasted terrible but Jack liked it. Grace demanded another set.

"So," she said, "Jack, how is it that you came to be here?"

"Presumably, I walked."

Grace laughed and in turn so did Jack.

"You?" Jack asked.

Grace shrugged.

"Same as anybody else; I've got nothing better to do tonight so I might as well shamble in with the herd and drink and dance like a good girl, y'know?"

The shots were set down in front of them. Grace took the tiny glass in her hand and swished the liquid around. Jack debated drinking it. He stared at the clear liquid for a moment before turning back to Grace.

"Is all this normal?" he asked.

Grace finally plunged the shot down her throat.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Jack gestured around the club, "These drinks, these people, and this music."

Jack's eye caught a couple in the corner. Their mouths chaotically crashed against each other, their tongues spiraling in all directions. The man grabbed the woman's butt tight and the woman reached for her partner's crotch.

"And that," Jack said as he pointed to the couple.

Grace laughed.

"Yeah," she said cynically, "that's basically the norm."

There was pause as Jack watched the couple and silence between him and Grace ensued. It didn't seem like silence to Jack though as the club's repetitive beat continued to thump in the background. When Jack finally looked back to Grace he found her staring at him intently.

"Those scars," she said as he made eye contact, "What happened?"

"I had a run in with the Joker," Jack said nonchalantly.

"Jesus!" Grace exclaimed, her eyes growing wide.

"Ah, I don't remember it," Jack explained, "I got amnesia after it."

"Wow," Grace stated before taking Jack's shot.

Jack's eyes followed back to the club scene. He watched as people hooked up with one another randomly from the dance floor. So that was what normality was, finding strangers and then groping each other in the dark? Jack was relatively unimpressed and yet strangely fascinated.

Grace watched Jack watch the club. She smiled at him. She wasn't typically a loose girl or an easy one but Jack had impressed her. She liked that he was honest and funny. She even liked his scars. It made him look like a bit of a bad ass. Most of all, she liked how he watched the others in the club, as if he'd never seen people act that way before.

Grace reached over and placed her hand on top of Jack's.

"I have an idea," Grace stated.

"What?"

Grace grabbed Jack's arm and began to lead him outside of the club.

"Let's go be normal!" she shouted above the music as they made their way through the crowd.

By then, the vodka had set in. It was a blur of movement; Lips against lips against necks against chests as they stumbled to Grace's car. Grace was a bitter and left a string of hickey's down Jack's torso. It wasn't long before they were half naked in the backseat of her car.

"So you're telling me that you went and had sex with some woman?" Bruce asked, his face red from embarrassment and jealousy.

"I didn't have sex with her," Jack pointed out, "I did get to find out that she doesn't have a gag reflex though."

"I did not need to know that," Bruce said, irritated.

"Look, the point is," Jack tried to redirect, "the entire time I couldn't think of anything to do about Grace. I wasn't particularly interested. I was just going with it because it was _normal_. When I didn't really do much back to her, I think she figured it out."

"You don't like me," Grace had said, pulling herself away from Jack.

Jack was silent. What was he supposed to say? Yes? Even Jack who was on a buzz and socially awkward knew better than to say that.

"There's someone else, isn't there?" Grace sighed as she pulled her shirt back on.

Jack paused. Yes, there was. No, there wasn't. There was Bruce but why should he matter? Bruce didn't want Jack. Bruce and Jack were just friends so why should that stop him from fooling around with Grace?

"Yeah," Jack said.

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

"Wife?"

"No."

Grace huffed and pulled a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"Don't tell me," Grace said, "Boyfriend?"

Jack looked up at her. She wasn't right but she was much closer.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Jesus!" Grace said, smacking Jack on the arm, "You're a fucking closet case aren't you? Damn it!"

"No," Jack answered, "I was just trying to be a normal person because what he and I have–what I am isn't normal."

Grace took on a different attitude. She was sympathetic to Jack.

"It's okay to be gay," Grace told him.

"It's not being gay that makes it not normal," Jack argued.

"Don't get snippy with me," Grace growled, "If that's not it then what is it?"

"I don't know," Jack admitted, "I just want to go and live my life with him but it's like he doesn't want me. If he doesn't want me then I end up out here and–"

"And what?" Grace asked curiously.

"–and I might end up being someone that I don't want to be. I can't do this whole normal thing either. I can't be a regular person. I don't think I want to be one anyway."

Grace paused as she tried to make sense of Jack's rambling. The explanation slowly sunk through three shots of vodka. Jack really had no problem with Grace. She was attractive but Jack just wasn't attracted to her. It wasn't that Jack was gay exactly. Jack had looked at many men and women in the club and none of them called to him. The only person Jack found himself attracted to was Bruce.

"I think," Grace pieced together, "that you love this guy. I mean, if you can't live without him then you've got to love him, right? So what you need to do is go to this guy and tell him."

Jack stopped his story there and paused to look at Bruce. Bruce stared back at Jack wordlessly. Jack took a deep breath. He rubbed his hands against his thighs quickly as if warming them up for something.

"So here I am," Jack stated, "And I'm in love with you."

_No,_ Bruce said in his head, _Take it back! Damn it, Jack! Take it back!_

"You make me feel like I'm who I'm supposed to be," Jack said, his voice more light than serious, "Who I want to be."

Jack understood Bruce in a way that no one else had. Jack needed a compass for his identity too. They completed each other. When Bruce was with Jack, he didn't question who he was. The question didn't seem important anymore. He could just be Bruce.

But Bruce wasn't just Bruce. If he was then he could kiss Jack the way he wanted to and let their relationship take over but he couldn't do those things. Love brought death. It always brought death.

"Jack," Bruce tried to lie, "I'm sorry but I–"

"Forget it," Jack interrupted as he pulled on his coat.

Bruce was shocked. Jack stood up and turned away from him.

"Jack?"

"You don't need to go on," Jack said, as if dismissing a fact he already knew. "I get it. I understand. I comprehend. No need to elaborate."

Bruce reached an arm out towards Jack. He wanted to grab his arm and make him stay. He wanted to explain himself even though he couldn't. He wanted to tell Jack the truth about himself and Batman and that he was trying to protect him because–

_I really, __**really**__ like you_, Bruce thought as his fingers remained just an inch away from Jack.

Jack started walking away. Bruce couldn't help himself and followed Jack to the doorway.

"I can send for a car," Bruce offered lamely.

"I've already told you," Jack said with his back still to Bruce, "I won't take your charity."

"Jack, please," Bruce said, "I wish that I could accept your feelings–"

"No you don't," Jack said, calling Bruce out on his shit.

"I do! Believe me; I want to but I–"

"Stop talking," Jack demanded, "All you're doing is flapping your lips. You want to know something?"

"What?"

"I'm glad Joker gave me these scars," Jack laughed, "This world _is_ a fucked up place where you get fucked over. Thanks to him and you, I won't forget that."

Bruce was at a loss for words. He couldn't see Jack's face but the words alone conveyed the hurt he was feeling. Bruce had destroyed Jack's concept of people which was just barely forming. To Jack, Bruce appeared to be a liar and a fraud. Bruce had shown him great kindness, kissed him lovingly, let him live in his house, and then refused his feelings.

_I did it for a reason!_ _Damn it, Jack! If I wasn't in–if I didn't care about you then I wouldn't put up with your sarcasm and cockiness and all your shit! I wouldn't be trying to protect you!_

Bruce felt the tears well up in his face. He never wanted to be Batman again. He wanted to quit right there and then. If he could he would but he was in too deep. It had been the same with Rachel but Bruce didn't have the heart to tell Jack to wait for him. For all Bruce knew, he might end up dying as Batman. He had a responsibility as Batman, to keep Joker at bay at all costs.

_Joker..._

Bruce swallowed hard as he realized once again that he was Batman and Batman had his relationship with Joker. It wasn't a normal relationship by any means but there was an undeniable sexual tension. Bruce couldn't control himself once he donned his cape and cowl when it came to Joker. If Bruce were to be with Jack then how would he explain Batman and Joker? How could he possibly convince Jack, let alone himself that he was faithful to Jack?

By the time Bruce brought himself out of his self-questioning spiral, it was too late. All arguments of faith and protection were pointless. Jack was gone.

Jack was in a trance again as his mind searched for Joker. He was ready to surrender to him. There was nothing in the world for Jack. Without Bruce, Jack had no place to go, no one to be, and no reason to be. The only reason Jack emerged from Joker was because Harley had made Joker question his hidden, subconscious longing for normality. Since Bruce didn't want Jack, Jack assumed he could find a desirable normalcy elsewhere but Jack wanted nothing but Bruce in the end.

And in the end, Bruce didn't want Jack.

Jack didn't want to think about it. He wanted forget himself and fade away in Joker's subconscious. Jack knew that at least Joker had Batman even though Jack's mind could not fully assimilate to Joker's memories. The love of Batman and Joker still seemed like an epic, romantic battle to him. Despite the romanticism Jack felt towards it he didn't want Batman for himself. Batman belonged to Joker not Jack. Jack just wanted to slip away and erase himself in Joker's madness.

Jack had made it back to the streets of Gotham but Joker escaped him. It was as if Jack couldn't find Joker in his mind. Jack began to panic. Would he be stuck this way? Resigned to a life of a heartbroken, homeless man?

_Heartbreak...so this is what it feels like?_

Jack tried to convince himself to make the best of his situation. He wasn't going to dwell on and cry about Bruce. What was done was done and if Jack couldn't summon Joker to take charge than he'd have to do his best with himself.

Jack approached a wealthy, older woman who was looking into a shop window. She was debating whether or not she felt like going into this high end store or another. In the end she'd go to both but she liked to amuse herself with a mock decision, one finger lingering near her Botox enhanced lips and the others cupping her fake chin.

The woman was horrified when Jack interrupted her amusement by tapping her on the shoulder.

"Hi," Jack said, "I'm homeless, where do I go for that?"

The woman turned her nose up at Jack and slapped his hand away.

"In a gutter I should say!" the woman said as she stormed off.

Jack paused and suddenly something violent started to move inside him. How dare that woman speak to him that way! He'd been polite. He'd only asked a question and yet the old broad acted as if he'd said something indecent. He knew she wasn't any different from him but she acted like she was.

_I bet if I were to cut you up you'd scream just like I would. _Jack thought, his inner voice creepily cheerful, _I bet if I showed you your own blood you'd see it's as red as mine. If I were to take away all your money there wouldn't be a difference between you and I. Everyone dies, lady. Even you. Everything bur–_

"Excuse me," a little voice said.

Jack broke from his disturbing train of thought and as quickly as it came it was forgotten.

A girl, roughly fifteen or so, tugged on Jack's coat.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I overheard. Don't worry about her, she's just a bitch."

The word bitch seemed odd coming from the girl's mouth. Jack almost felt like she was too young to be saying that word but it flowed from her tongue so naturally. It was Jack's ears that had a problem with it.

"There's a homeless shelter about a block down south from here, you could start there," the girl said pointing to her left, "They'll feed you and give you a place for the night if you hurry."

Jack smiled at her. He hoped he would remember her once he was Joker. He reached over and patted her head due to his absolute lack of knowledge when it came to children.

"I like you. When Gotham goes to hell, I hope you'll be spared." he said as opposed to the customary 'thank you'.

The girl looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Uh, okay," she said.

Jack took off down the block and soon enough he was inside the shelter. It was a shabby place but Jack couldn't complain. It was better than wandering around the streets waiting for Joker to appear.

The entire building smelled roughly of some sort of stew or chowder and piss. Jack sniffed at his shoulder. Thinking about it, he didn't smell so great himself.

The shelter wasn't much more than a big room with cafeteria benches and a buffet style kitchen. Jack turned up his collar to hide his scars and got into line.

Every second in line Jack waited for Joker to come. Jack tapped his fingers against his thigh impatiently. The plan was simply to revert to Joker but the plan wasn't coming through. It was a little irritating to Jack but in a way he sort of liked the unpredictability. How boring would life be if everything went according to plan anyway?

Jack would have to find a way to adjust until Joker took over. It was probably better this way for both sides of his personality. Sure, Joker was a criminal and a mad man but Jack felt where he was coming from. People really were cold and selfish. They would eat each other alive when it came down to it or at the very least; Jack knew they were capable of hurting one another.

Besides, Joker had the Bat and while Jack wasn't exactly sure what happened to him when Joker was in charge, he felt as if he enjoyed a little of their relationship. It did make him happy to see Joker and Batman together. Even the memories of them made him happy despite his feeling that they didn't belong to him. It was like watching a twisted little love story. In a way, Jack almost felt bad that his being had put a pause on such a beautiful tale. Almost.

Jack wanted to put his own happiness first. After all, that was all he could really do. He wanted to fall in love with Bruce, be taught how to be a good person, and forget all about Joker but it wasn't possible. Who was Jack kidding anyway? Joker would never go away. The only person in the world who stood a chance at taming him was Batman. Bruce was just ordinary. Granted he was one rich and influential guy but just a man in the end.

Still, when it came down to it, Jack would pick Bruce over Batman any day of the week.

"Hey there!" a perky voice proclaimed, "Can I get a comment about how it feels to be homeless?"

It was a brunette woman with a microphone being followed by a man with a camera.

"It's–" Jack tried to find words for something he didn't care to think about.

"Terrible? Tragic?" the woman offered.

There was something mechanical about the way she talked. It was almost forced. Jack wasn't the only one to notice this. Bruce had too the moment he'd turned on the five o'clock news.

Bruce had just changed the channel trying to avoid reports on the questionable two and a half minutes of silence between Batman and Joker on Harley Quinn's live feed. He stared at the screen, shocked to see the man he'd just rejected.

"Jack?" Bruce asked aloud.

"Do you feel miserable? Useless?" the woman continued.

"That's a bit harsh isn't it?" Jack interrupted.

"Life is harsh, but I guess you know that don't you?" the woman asked, her voice starting to shift.

The woman carelessly tossed the microphone over her shoulder and pulled off her brunette hair. It was a wig and underneath it were two blonde pigtails.

Harley quickly pulled a gun out from her large bag and held it up to Jack's head. She put her arm around him to hold him against his will.

"Everybody down!" she shouted, her voice now full blown Boston, "Now!"

The crowd screamed and began to scramble. A good number of them were calm and began to take hostages of their own, revealing their identities as planted henchmen. A select few were off screen. Viewers could make out one of the men blocking an exit.

"Why do they always run?" Harley sighed and asked Jack before shooting randomly into the frazzled crowd.

Bruce stared into the screen. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be real.

Jack's eyes grew wide as he looked up at Harley. How could she not recognize him? Did the makeup really make that much of a difference? He'd have to say something to her.

"Har–"

"Bound and gag him!" Harley commanded before throwing him towards one of her men, "As for everyone else, file out nice and easy. You're going home safe and sound today. Be sure and tip your doorman that is if you have anything to tip with."

The crowd simmered down. They were like frightened sheep as they were being herded out the back door. Jack tried to call out to Harley but the henchman who had him covered his mouth. He was indeed being gagged and bound. Before Jack knew it, he was tied down to one of the chairs, voiceless and helpless.

Harley had disappeared off screen and the camera man zoomed in on the struggling Jack. Jack was wide eyed and fighting his restraints with everything he had. Bruce had seen enough. He bounded out the room.

Jack managed to do nothing but fall over, chair and all.

"Pick him back up!" Harley shouted, entering back on the scene.

Jack was righted and he looked at Harley. She'd gone and put on her costume, even her makeup. Jack was trying to talk to her again but his speech was muffled by the gag.

"Pleading for your life ain't going to get it for ya," she noted before turning toward the camera.

"Ladies and gents, Harley Quinn here!" she introduced, "I've got something very important to say."

She cleared her throat.

"Mr. J, I hope you see this. I want to say that I'm sorry for making you upset and I just want you to come home, puddin'," she said sadly, "In the meantime, here's my makeup gift!"

Harley walked up to Jack. Jack kept wishing for Joker to take over. He was begging for it but his mind was coming up absent. Jack would have to suffer for Joker.

"As Gotham well knows, the Bat," her voice was poison on his name, "ruined me and Mr. J's little experiment. So what I'm going to do is continue where we left off! But this time, I'm going to use this poor shmuck right here because, let's face it; society decided he was worthless anyways. Now he's got a purpose."

Harley reached into her shirt and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it carefully.

"I wrote down my favorites," she said, giving Jack a wink.

She glanced at the paper.

"Well, we can't do that," she mumbled, "We don't have a meat hook."

Jack didn't know what to do. He would not resign himself to this fate. He would not pay Joker's actions in some karma induced situation. He would never give in to it.

"Ah now this is a good one!" Harley said excitedly, "Hey, muscle head! Yeah, you! Get me a knife from the kitchen! A big one!"

Harley merrily walked up to Jack. She tossed a leg over him and straddled him. She threw his long coat open. She smiled.

"Look at that. You're already shirtless! Did you prepare for this or what?"

Harley's henchman had fetched like a good dog. Harley moved the knife around, letting the glint of the light play on the blade. The request had been to carve something into his chest. Harley was going to do just that but she wanted a message that applied to her. She wanted to speak from the heart and carve it into the poor man's skin.

"Harley!" Jack tried to articulate, "Harley!"

It was just mumbling to Harley. She'd made her decision. She'd show Mr. J just how alike they were. She would hurt an innocent for the world to see. She'd torture him. She'd do anything for the Joker. Anything at all.

Harley dug the knife into Jack's flesh. Jack screamed as Harley began to carve her message into his skin. The knife burned as the tip of it dragged along his flesh. It hurt like hell. Skin doesn't cut like paper or fabric. It literally tears upon, slowly and without the smallest hint of relief.

Harley stopped momentarily. Jack felt like he couldn't breathe. Harley dug back into his flesh, barely starting on the next letter and Jack felt adrenaline rush through his veins. He began to twist and turn in his seat, struggling to free himself.

Harley hit him hard against the side of the head with the handle of the knife.

"Quit squirming!" she shouted, "You're messing up my penmanship."

Jack was dazed. The pain softened a bit with the hit. His screams were reduced to moans. Harley didn't notice. She was too intent on her message. She'd finished the first word and had already moved on to the next.

"One. Last. Letter," she said, deep in concentration.

Jack could feel the warmth of his own blood as it dripped down his chest. It smelled like copper. He wondered briefly how it tasted. Is this how he was to die? Wondering how his blood tasted? He laughed softly to himself. What a funny thought to think.

"Done!" Harley said victoriously.

Jack felt fuzzy and warm. It was like he wasn't quite there anymore. He had drifted to a place of peace and slight euphoria. He was going to be tortured and die. Okay. It didn't really matter anyway, did it?

_Because I've got nothing to live for. Nothing except being Joker and I don't want to be him. I really don't want to be him at all._

"Ah, Batman," Harley said, looking up from her work, "Can't say I'm pleased to see you."

Batman said nothing to her. She wasn't worth the banter. Right then, nobody was. He quickly disposed of anyone who got in his way. He was not here to play games.

"Well," Harley said, getting up and off of Jack, "I might as well greet you!"

Harley ran up to deliver a kick to Batman but he caught her leg and threw her off to the side. Harley lied on the floor, trying to get back up. Batman approached her.

"Normally," Batman noted as he took the knife from Harley, "It's not my policy to hit a lady–"

Harley continued to struggle for her focus.

"But you're no lady," Batman said before hitting Harley's head with the knife's hilt.

Harley fell over unconscious. Batman walked straight up to the camera man. The camera man backed away quickly. Batman grabbed the camera and threw it into the wall breaking the camera. The camera man made a break for the door. Batman went after him and slammed the other man's head into the ground.

Batman was intent on destroying every single person involved with this treacherous display. He'd give them injuries to last a lifetime.

_Batman?_ Jack's thoughts were fuzzy as he let out a muffled moan.

Batman turned around quickly at Jack's noise. He untied Jack who promptly slid off the chair and towards the floor. Batman caught him and held him bridal style.

_I've got you. _He thought as he looked upon Jack's face.

Batman snuck out of the building and to his motorcycle. Carefully, he tucked Jack into the sidecar. Jack's eyes were lazy and sleepy looking. Batman took off for the Batcave, glancing every now and then at the wounded Jack.

Once in the Batcave, Batman placed Jack onto a table. He grabbed a corner of his cape and began to mop up the blood on Jack's chest. Jack had fallen asleep as Batman patted away the blood. The cuts were not too deep so he wouldn't go into shock. Harley had just done enough damage to make it hurt.

Once most of the blood had been wiped away, Batman could see that Harley had left a message in Jack's chest. There in bloody, scraggly print were two words: love me.

Batman felt no sympathy for Harley. As he stared at the message he could only think of how it applied to Jack. Bruce had outright denied him. He'd lead him on and then turned him down and he didn't even want to. The guilt and remorse began to claw at him beneath the mask but Batman forced himself to ignore it.

Batman located his first aid kit and pulled out the hydrogen peroxide. It was a little dated but he didn't have much of an option. He poured it out onto a clean rag and went in to dab the first cut clean. Upon contact, Jack flung himself forward and yelped.

"Fuck! Now that is painful–"

Jack froze in his words. Standing in front of him was Batman. The Batman. Jack only knew him from disassociated memories and television clips but here Batman was in the flesh. He actually existed beyond the story and he'd rescued Jack.

"I've always wanted to meet you," Jack said in slight wonder.

Batman didn't know how to respond. Technically, he shouldn't say anything other than an order for Jack to lie down and be treated but Batman could not separate himself from Bruce. He wanted to more than anything. Bruce already made it a point to keep Jack out of Batman's life. He couldn't give in now not after what he'd already done. It would be the death of Jack but even as he protested himself, he kept staring at the words on Jack's chest; love me.

_I want to,_ he admitted to himself.

Jack reached a hand out to Batman. He carefully placed it on the Bat's masked face. He tugged at the rubber gently, fascinated by the Bat.

"You're real," Jack said in his usual casual tone. "I know you are but I always felt like, I don't know, but you're actually real."

Batman couldn't move. He was too afraid of doing something he wasn't supposed to. His urges as Bruce were overwhelming. He wanted to hold Jack. He wanted to kiss Jack. He wanted to apologize and tell Jack he loved him.

"I want you to know something," Jack said, putting his other hand on Batman's face and pulling it closer to him to get his attention, "I think the Joker loves you and you've got to be in love with him."

Batman's mind flashed to Joker and for the first time ever, Batman and Bruce felt their heart strings pull in different directions. Batman wanted Joker but Bruce wanted Jack. Bruce wanted Jack more because Jack understood that Batman wanted Joker.

_If anybody stood a chance...it would be you._ Batman confessed to himself.

"I know it's a fucked up love," Jack continued his voice disguised in the tone of everyday talk, "but you should go on and be as fucked up as you two are. It's better than being unloved. Trust me."

Bruce could feel his desires bubbling to the top. Jack understood him. He understood Batman without a single explanation. He had his blessing to be corrupted by Joker. If there was anyone in the world who could possibly know Bruce to the core, it was the man sitting in front of him.

"Fight each other," Jack continued his voice hinting at laughter despite sadness in his eyes, "Love each other. It's all the same to you both but do it with all your heart, Batman."

Jack smiled at Batman as fully as he could and let out a chuckle.

"Because I'd give anything to known what it's like to be loved. Even if it is wrong."

Batman grabbed Jack and held him in his arms. Jack was surprised.

"Uh, you're welcome?" he said, feeling awkward in Batman's embrace.

Batman pulled away a bit before kissing Jack. Jack's eyes grew wide as Batman's lips made contact with his.

_What is he doing?_ Jack thought as his heart raced, _He can't do this! I'm not Joker! I'm– this is–_

Beneath the mask, Bruce felt the kiss heal him of his regret. He'd made a decision in the split second their lips were against each other's. Jack deserved to know the truth. No, he deserved more than that. He deserved for the truth not to exist but Bruce knew that the least he could do was tell Jack the truth.

Jack pulled away from Batman quickly and slid off the table, stumbling as he tried to find the floor. He had to leave and leave now.

"Well," Jack stammered, "It was uh, nice meeting you. I think I'm going to go now. Where's the exit?"

"Jack," Batman said, "wait."

Jack felt his entire body go stiff. He hadn't told Batman his name and yet he knew it. The Bat's voice up had gone up an octave and to a familiar sound.

"How…?" Jack managed to ask.

Batman pulled his mask off, revealing his identity as Bruce. Jack's mouth dropped as he made sense of what was going on. Bruce was Batman. Fucking Bruce was Batman.

"Jack," Bruce said his voice soft and pleading, "This is why I said no to you. I didn't want to drag you into this. I–I like you too much to put you in danger."

Jack was still in shock. Bruce was Batman? So this meant that Jack was in love with Batman's true identity? That also meant Joker was in love with Bruce's alter ego. And that meant–

_I don't have to go back._

Jack didn't have to give in to being Joker. He didn't have to be a madman or a criminal. He didn't have to revert to the hopeless love that was Joker and Batman. He could have a love where he was allowed to love. He could be himself and he could have what _he_ wanted.

Jack had hope.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, "I lied to you so I could keep you safe because... I think I–"

Bruce was unable to finish. Jack grabbed Bruce by the face and kissed him hard on the mouth. Bruce pushed back, somewhat surprised by it but Jack pulled him back in. Jack could feel his heartbreaking as he kissed Bruce. He had hope. He had Bruce. He had love and it was so unbearably beautiful that it hurt.

_Feel it,_ Jack commanded, _I know you feel this._

Bruce tried to pull away. He didn't want for it to go this far. He just wanted to give Jack the truth. He couldn't love him. He wasn't supposed to but his heart felt as if it were shattering in his chest. He grabbed Jack's hair as he kissed him back just as hard.

Their arms fought for a bit. Jack removed Bruce's gloves in rough, sharp movements and Bruce tore Jack's coat off of his body.

"Stop," Jack said, his voice breathy.

Bruce didn't want to listen. His mind didn't have the capacity to listen. His mouth moved straight to Jack's neck as he planted rough kisses. He didn't even care that Jack already had hickeys. It didn't matter.

"No," Jack said, trying not to lose his head, "Not here, Bruce. Not here. Not like this."

Bruce pulled away from Jack but his hands still ran over Jack's body.

"I want _you_, Bruce," Jack said, "Just you."

Bruce's eyes were down cast.

"What if I told you I wasn't sure who that was anymore?" Bruce asked, glancing at the mask that lied on the floor.

Jack grabbed hold of Bruce by his ears and pulled his face close. He stared Bruce in the eyes. He was not going to lose Bruce. He'd be damned if he lost him now.

"This is you," he growled, "This is who you are. Not Batman. Not the billionaire. But you and only you."

Jack began kissing Bruce again. What he said was all Bruce needed to hear. This was his real identity. He was his true self when he was with Jack. There was no confusion about what he wanted or where he was going. There was only him and Jack. The rest of the world ceased to exist.

As they fought for dominance in their kissing, Bruce picked Jack up. Jack adjusted and wrapped his legs around Bruce. They were chest to chest and groin to groin. They wanted to be closer as close as possible.

Bruce began to carry Jack up the stairs. Batman had nothing to do with them. This was not the place for what was happening.

Jack didn't bother to realize the Batcave and Wayne Manor were connected. He was too lost in Bruce. He wanted all of him, everything of him and Jack wanted to give too. He wanted to give every last bit of himself to Bruce.

Once in Bruce's bedroom, Jack hopped off of Bruce. He then tore away at the Batman suit. Jack didn't want Batman. He didn't want the legacy or force. He wanted the man behind it all. He wanted the real thing.

Bruce pulled off his boots using his legs. As Jack stripped him of his cape and armor, Bruce undressed what was left on Jack. The baggy jeans came off with ease and soon they were both naked, their hands and lips running wildly over one another's bodies.

There was no need to say that they loved each other. It was known. It was more than known. It was felt all the way down to the soul.

Jack pushed Bruce down on the bed, falling on top of him. Bruce held Jack by the arms as they continued to kiss one another.

Jack reached down to Bruce's member. He wrapped his fingers around it and began pumping it in his grasp.

Bruce had no idea what he was doing. This was all new to him. He wasn't even one hundred percent sure how sex between two men worked. He had a general idea but nothing specific. All he knew was that what Jack was doing felt good and he wanted to do something back.

"Just go with it," Jack said huskily in Bruce's ear.

Bruce reached down and began mimicking what Jack was doing. Holding Jack's member didn't seem to bother Bruce. He liked the feel of it. It was starting to make sense, sex between two men. It was easier to know what to do because all the parts were the same. Bruce began alternating pressures against Jack's penis. It wasn't long before the two of them were fully erect.

Jack let go of Bruce's member and his lips strayed from Bruce's lips and went down his neck and torso. He eyed Bruce's penis. He and Jack were of equal size and an impressive size at that. Jack licked the pre-cum off the tip of Bruce's member, teasing him.

It was almost too much for Bruce to handle. It was so much at once. He reached down to get Jack back up to his lips but Jack grabbed Bruce's wrists and put them down to his sides.

Bruce had never not been in control of sex but Jack was determined. Bruce could do nothing but give into it for the moment and in a lot of ways he didn't mind.

Jack opened his mouth and slid it around Bruce's erect member. He slowly bobbed his head, Bruce's member sliding in and out gently. Jack wanted to lubricate it as much as possible because while Bruce didn't know what was coming, Jack did.

Jack climbed back over Bruce and then sat upright on top of him. Bruce was lost but Jack led him. Jack took his hands and put them on his hips. Bruce eyed the message on Jack's chest; _love me. _Bruce found himself saying yes. He said it over and over in his head.

_Always,_ Bruce replied to the etched words, _with everything. I will._

Jack slowly mounted himself onto Bruce's member. Bruce's face dropped into an expression of euphoria as his member went inside Jack. He'd never felt anything like it before. That alone was better than any straight sex he'd ever had.

Jack winced as he lowered himself onto Bruce. It hurt, he knew that. He didn't know why he knew how to have sex like this but he assumed he learned it in a past identity.

Bruce seemed to catch on pretty quickly. Making love was making love wasn't it? Bruce grasped Jack's hips tightly and began to lift Jack up and then back down as his member slid in and out of him.

Jack held his breath still not quiet catching the pleasure yet but Bruce's moans were enough for him. He was getting off on them alone.

Jack let out a hard moan as Bruce went fully inside him. He'd hit something, something good.

"There," Jack breathed heavily.

Bruce understood and began aiming for the same spot. Bruce's pelvis started to go into it as they steadily increased speed. He kept hitting Jack's spot over and over igniting a series of appreciative sounds from Jack.

Jack reached down one hand to his own member and began to satisfy himself there as well. He kept it in time with Bruce's rhythm. This was it. They were consummating. They were real.

Bruce could feel himself getting to his peak. It felt so right to give in to Jack but he wasn't sure if he should cum inside Jack. Was that rude?

"J-Jack," Bruce tried to ask him.

"Keep going!" Jack spat his words out quickly in a moan.

Bruce kept thrusting in and out of Jack fast and hard getting all he could out of his last few seconds. Jack was also nearing his climax and with those final thrusts, Jack was sent over the edge.

Jack spilled his seed over Bruce's abs just as Bruce came inside him. Their breath slowed with the relief and Jack carefully pulled himself off of Bruce.

Jack collapsed to Bruce's side. Bruce reached over, grabbed Jack and gave him one last hard kiss on the mouth before letting go and allowing him to collapse again.

The two were almost silent except for their breathing. It was difficult coming down from such a high. Bruce could feel his sleepiness kicking in. He expected Jack to say something. Bruce was used to attempted conversation post sex but then it hit him.

"It's funny," Bruce said sleepily, "Women always want to talk after, isn't that funny?"

"Bruce?" Jack asked lazily, face down in a pillow.

"Yeah?"

"Stop being a woman."

Bruce let out a soft 'ha' feeling too tired to laugh properly. Jack's eyes closed and his mind was drifting towards sleep. His hand was palm up and lying out towards Bruce. Bruce lied on his side and reached his hand out for Jack's. He laced his fingers with Jack's as he closed his eyes.

Bruce wanted Jack to stay with him. He wanted Jack to be with him. Jack was Bruce's only chance at some happiness and it was the only happiness Bruce wanted.

_I love you_. Bruce thought as he fell asleep.

**A/N: ...I totally gave myself a lady boner. :D Ah yeah! Anyways, smut topped with fluff. That's the best kind of smut. I hope you guys liked this chapter. I certainly know I did. ;) Also, I came back to fix a few more typos. I've got Lyn doing some beta work for me so eventually I'll be able to go back and make everything perfect! Yay! :D**


	12. And Everything About A Bat

**A/N: Thanks for your feedback guys! So Lyn's my new beta (she's my best friend in real life so this system works out better). If you're reading this then all the old chapters have been updated so they're more correct. **

**WARNING: This chapter has a violent, sexual scene. It is not delicious or good in anyway. It is a terrible thing and I am sad I had to write it. D: **

Bruce stretched his legs out as he began to wake up. He felt as if he'd gotten a nice deep sleep last night. He felt warm and comfortable under the sheets as he woke.

Bruce recalled the night before as he lazily rubbed at his eye and the strangest thing happened: Bruce smiled.

Bruce had partaken in countless amounts of sex and rarely did he wake up smiling at the memory of it. It wasn't so much that it hadn't been enjoyable as it was that Bruce was never invested enough to remember anything to smile about.

Bruce's real smile was a close-lipped, secret smirk. It was nothing like the huge, shiny grin he plastered on his face for the public. It was a smile for a rare occasion though Bruce thought nothing of it as he enjoyed knowing what had happened last night.

Last night Bruce had made love to someone. Yes, this someone was a man but Bruce's mind glided over that fact. Bruce was happy in that he had made love as opposed to just having sex. Although Bruce would probably never say it in words he was in love with Jack and Bruce could feel that love as he turned over to wake Jack up.

But Jack wasn't there.

Bruce's heart stopped for a moment. The arm that he intended to throw over his new love had landed on nothing but the sheets. No sound escaped Bruce's lips other than one solitary breath.

Bruce stayed like that for a few seconds before convincing himself that Jack probably woke up before him and was showering or eating or maybe just watching television. Jack did like watching television.

_I'm acting like an idiot. _

Bruce got out of bed. He saw the batsuit on the floor. His body armor and rubber gloves looked like a lifeless second skin. Bruce stepped over the shed pieces and walked towards the bathroom. The sound of running water was absent but he knocked anyway. He knocked on the door twice but he heard no reply.

"Jack?"

Still there was no reply. Bruce opened the door hoping he wouldn't scare Jack but no one was there.

Bruce told himself not to panic and think logically. Jack was not in the room and neither were his pants. Jack must have put his clothes back on and gone downstairs.

Bruce checked the kitchen but Jack wasn't there either. He tried the Batcave and the room with the fireplace they'd always gone to talk in. Bruce checked Jack's old room but he wasn't there either.

Bruce was just about to leave Jack's old room when he noticed the paper on the desk.

There was writing on it.

Bruce picked up the paper. The page felt dry in his hands as he read it:

_Bruce, _

_Don't look for me. _

_- Jack _

Bruce didn't know what to feel at first. He wasn't even sure what Jack's note meant. Don't look for him? Did that mean that Jack didn't want to see Bruce anymore?

Bruce let the page fall from his fingers as he tried to resist the tears in his eyes. He fell down to his knees and punched the desk chair violently.

Why?

There was no reason for Jack to leave. Bruce had bared everything, his all to Jack. He'd been honest and upfront with him. He'd opened up. Bruce had allowed himself to feel and Jack had chosen to leave.

Bruce forced himself to get back up. He successfully resisted the pooling tears and marched back up to his bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. He didn't know what to do with himself. There was nothing to do. He couldn't look for Jack and there was no means of contacting him.

Jack was gone.

Little did Bruce know that Jack was in a gas station restroom. Jack's fingers reached up to add the final touches to his painted on mask. He wasn't sure how to go about it. Did it need to be more lopsided and messy? Or was it too messy? More black on the eyes? It was hard to say for Jack had never done it before.

Jack wanted to be with Bruce. He wanted to watch TV with Bruce and talk to Bruce. He wanted to eat with Bruce and poke fun at him. He wanted to make love in that huge, lonely mansion so much so that Bruce would no longer find it lonely. Jack wanted to be himself and be with Bruce.

The only way for Jack to be himself though was to get rid of Joker once and for all.

It wasn't easy for Jack to put on Joker's makeup. It made him sick and in a way it made him excited too. Jack didn't want to be Joker but he knew that deep down he envied him. Joker was secure in his insanity and had made a name for his self. Jack still had very little understanding about who he was. What he did know though was that he loved Bruce and that he could figure out the rest as he went.

There was still the matter of getting rid of Joker. Jack had retained knowledge of Joker's hideouts. He knew how Joker behaved. Jack would simply impersonate his other self for a little while.

The first thing Jack had to do was dig up a dead body. Now Jack wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea but it was better than getting a fresh body. Jack would then need to covertly transfer the body to St. Hart's hospital. Jack would very publicly take over the hospital. Jack would tell all of his henchmen and Harley to leave him alone in the crematorium. Jack would lock the doors and cover all the windows, informing his men that he was not to be disturbed. After that, he'd make a lot of ruckus; knock things over as if something had gone wrong. Jack would then put Joker's suit onto the dead body, making sure to change his own clothes in order to be able to slip into outside of the hospital undetected.

Jack planned to cremate the pilfered corpse and make it seem like Joker had burned himself alive. He knew forensics couldn't identify the ashes of a man and as long as no one knew a corpse was stolen at the same time of Joker's death, no one would bother to try.

Jack almost felt like it was fitting that Joker's legacy would be consumed in the fire and burn out. He believed that if Joker had a preference, he would want it that way.

The plan was grotesque and involved lying and stealing but Jack would do that for Bruce. Jack wanted his chance at happiness not Joker's. Joker, as established and strong as he was, had no chance at happiness. Jack knew how Joker felt when he wasn't committing crimes. Jack knew that Joker would stare into the ceiling feeling hallow. Jack knew that the only human desire Joker possessed was wanting Batman and Jack knew he could never have him.

Jack may have been selfish but he wasn't entirely neglectful of his other self. Killing off Joker would put him out of his misery. Misery, that's all it ever was whether Joker wanted to admit it or not.

Jack stared at himself in the mirror. He hoped that Bruce would listen to his note. If Bruce were to find Jack like this then all hope was lost. If Bruce were to ever find out who Jack had been then they could never be at peace with one another. Jack knew that if he could just get rid of Joker for good then he and Bruce would be able to have a love free of longing and anguish. Their alter egos would no longer be a pair of violent, star crossed lovers and Jack and Bruce could have a chance at a life their other selves had only dreamed of.

Jack's hand shook as he traced his lips with red lipstick. He was thankful to himself for bringing Joker's cosmetics with him the last time he'd come to and was in Joker's lair. It had been some sort insurance for Jack in the case he'd give himself over to being Joker.

Jack felt almost excited for his plan. He had yet to accomplish anything except getting a rich, handsome, young man to fall for him. Joker had hundreds of grand schemes charged to his name. Joker was a genius and Jack often wondered if he was too. He was thrilled at the idea of his plan coming together. He blamed Joker's insanity a little less for it.

Jack felt satisfied with the big red grin on his face. He put the lipstick down and looked up at himself to see just how well he'd done.

It's time Joker and Batman came to an end...

The minute Jack's eyes took in Joker's face the terrible pain smashed at the inside of Jack's skull.

It was coming. That horrible, full bodied torture was raking at Jack. He knew what was happening. Joker was coming.

"No!" Jack shouted through clenched teeth, "You can't!"

It didn't matter. Jack could fight it all he wanted but there was no stopping the process. Jack was flat on his back as his body convulsed. His eyes stared blankly into the ceiling. He could feel himself slipping away.

Bruce found himself staring at the batsuit. It laid there in pieces on the floor. Bruce wanted to burn the batsuit. He wanted to tear it to pieces. He wanted for it not to exist.

_You're the reason he's gone. _

Bruce wanted to resign himself from crime fighting but he couldn't. Even if Jack had decided to stay, Bruce knew in his heart that he'd still be Batman. There's was nothing in the world that would make Bruce give-up his thirst for justice and his chase of Joker. Maybe Jack knew that.

Bruce picked up the batsuit carefully and began his walk to the Batcave. He hated being Batman. He never particularly had a love for it but now there was a burning, consuming hatred towards the cape and cowl. Bruce hated it because he knew he could never give it up.

Bruce was like an addict and being Batman was his drug. Being Batman made him a hero. Even if all of Gotham didn't want him as its hero Batman would defend Gotham to the very end. Bruce was disgusted by much of Gotham but he knew that the everyday people deserved something better. He was there for them. He was there because he wished there'd been a Batman to save his parents. There hadn't been and Bruce could never change that but Bruce could make Gotham a place where children didn't have to lose their parents that way. He had to.

And there was Joker. Joker had taken Batman and turned him into something neither better nor worse but something more. Batman and Joker were in this eternal dance with one another. It was the dance of crime and justice, light and dark, love and hate. Batman knew that Joker should be stopped and put away but every time Joker disappeared from the scene Batman felt empty. The police had become more capable of catching criminals even major crime bosses now that Batman had instilled fear in the underground. Batman knew that there may come a day when the bad guys would get so afraid and the police force would get so empowered that they would forget Batman all together. It was the goal for the city to eventually stop needing Batman but as long as Joker was around Batman had to continue to exist. Batman may have caused Joker to come about in the world but Joker was Batman's anchor in it. They needed each other and they wanted each other. They hated each other and admired each other. Every time Batman was in room with Joker he felt as if he'd simply tear in half.

Bruce felt the urge to put on his costume. He wanted nothing more than to forget Jack and immerse himself into being Batman once more. Batman didn't care about a man named Jack. Batman cared only to fight thugs and chase Joker.

Bruce sighed as he set aside the batsuit before sitting down in front of the Batcave's computer. Batman was only allowed to exist at night and night wouldn't come for hours. For now, Bruce was trapped in an endless cycle of wanting to wear the batsuit and wanting to throw it away.

Back at Wayne Enterprises, Pamela was well into being sick. She was having trouble walking and ultimately decided to lie down on Dr. Woodrue's cot. Dr. Woodrue had started sleeping in the lab in order to get more work done. Pamela was thankful for it now as she felt dizzy.

Pamela was pissed off at Dr. Woodrue. He had promised to lower the doses and for the most part he had. Pamela was getting considerably less sick. The crazy thing was that she was also seeing a result in terms of communicating with the plants. Pamela had yet to tell Dr. Woodrue but she could ask the plants to move and do simple tasks if she concentrated. It was nonverbal communication, telepathic communication, the thing comic books were made of.

Today's injection however had taken their toll on Pamela. Her vision came in and out at times and she found it hard to move her muscles not to mention the pounding headache and dizziness. The headaches were normal though, the other symptoms not so much.

Dr. Woodrue's face appeared above Pamela. It was blurry at first but eventually came into focus.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. Woodrue asked.

The words seemed to hit Pamela in slow motion and she became frustrated as her reply slurred out of her mouth. Her words weren't forming properly and even she wasn't sure what she'd managed to say.

Dr. Woodrue smiled and said something that Pamela's mind couldn't make sense of. Dr. Woodrue then fussed with his belt.

"What are you–"

Pamela's voice was useless. Her thoughts were drenched in molasses the minute they tried to form action and the concept of panic eluded her system as Dr. Woodrue unzipped his crisp, ironed, white, work pants and fished out his member.

_Oh, God._ Pamela thought despite her body's lack of response.

Pamela pushed every ounce of her will power to get up as Dr. Woodrue hiked up her skirt, pulled off her panties and opened her legs. Pamela could no longer move. She couldn't fight back.

_Stop it! Get off me! Stop it! _

The thoughts were coming out of her mouth but they were slowed and quiet. She realized she couldn't defend herself from what was happening. She was trapped with no one, not even herself, to save her.

"I'll be quick about it. This is for the experiment, for the sake of conceiving a child," Dr. Woodrue took in a deep breath as he entered Pamela, "I assure you."

_Child? What does a child have to do with this? _

Pamela's mind went back to the notes Dr. Woodrue had been taking. Dr. Woodrue seemed to be leaning towards something more than verbal communication with plants. Pamela suspected that he would use the science they were participating in now for some more ridiculous and dangerous experiments in the future but what if he hadn't decided to wait at all?

Dr. Woodrue was introducing plant genetics into the human system and he wanted to conceive a child.

_He wants to create a human plant child? _

It sounded like the bad plot line of a science fiction movie but the scenario at hand was very real. Pamela could feel Dr. Woodrue moving inside her even as her body refused to move.

"You see," Dr. Woodrue grunted, "a perfect plant is a hermaphrodite– so we need to conceive a dual gendered– God, you're beautiful!"

He lied about being quick. He was taking his time and enjoying it. Pamela was motionless beneath him.

Pamela hadn't wished for help in a long time. She'd been so determined to do things on her own and be an independent woman. She would never be a victim, not ever but as she felt herself being violated and unable to do a damn thing about it, her mind prayed for a savior.

_Someone help me! Please, God! Someone stop him! Stop this! _

_Help me... _

Vines wrapped around Dr. Woodrue's body and before Pamela could question it, Dr. Woodrue was thrown off of her.

_What happened? _

Pamela tried to turn herself to see and the moment the thought came to do so, vines emerged from the dark lit lab and gently pulled Pamela upwards. The wrapped around her and supported her into a sitting position. Pamela was shocked.

Dr. Woodrue was restrained by other vines. They were wound tight around his ankles and wrists. He was held up to face Pamela.

"Now, Pamela," Dr. Woodrue tried to reason with her, "Think about this."

_Think about this? Does he think that I'm doing this? _

The vines tightened and Dr. Woodrue screamed.

_Am I doing this? _

"You were," Pamela said slowly, "raping me."

The vines tightened a notch and Dr. Woodrue screamed once again.

"Pamela, please! Show some mercy! This was all for science! For the plants! For you!"

_For me? FOR ME! _

"Liar."

A vine wrapped around Dr. Woodrue's neck.

"Pamela! PAMELA FOR GOD'S SAKE! YOU'RE GOING TO KILL ME!"

_Not yet. _

The vine began to choke Dr. Woodrue. Pamela would wait until Dr. Woodrue would turn red in the face before releasing his neck and allowing him to breath for a moment before choking him again. It went on for hours and the more sober Pamela became the more she realized she was torturing him.

"You know something Dr. Woodrue?" Pamela asked as she waited for him to get close to death, "You're an insane, ugly, little man and your whole plan for conceiving a child was pointless."

Pamela released Dr. Woodrue's neck. He gasped and coughed for air as Pamela stood up from the cot, fixed her skirt and walked up to him.

"You see, Jason," she said and she grabbed his face and forced him to look her in the eye, "I'm infertile but since you wanted me so God damn badly..."

Pamela kissed Dr. Woodrue harsh on the lips. He had wanted her so much. She knew that long before in the way he would look at her, hungry and wanting. She would show him what taking her meant. It was a mocking kiss. The moment her lips had made contact with his the vine wrapped around his neck again and began to choke him.

Pamela looked Jason dead in the eye as his mind and body fought for life. She wasn't enjoying this. She wasn't happy or excited or turned on by it. She just felt justified and continued to feel justified as Dr. Woodrue's eyes went blank and his body went limp.

"Snap his neck to be sure," she instructed the plants.

Pamela watched without remorse as Dr. Woodrue's head was turned the wrong way. She listened without guilt to the sound of his bones breaking.

"They're all like this," Pamela decided.

Human beings were just vessels for everything that was wrong. They didn't belong in nature. Nature wasn't evil the way people were. Pamela wasn't that way and neither were the plants.

"And still they hurt us," Pamela whispered as she began petting one of the vines.

The human race needed to go extinct. Perhaps even Pamela needed to go with them.

The vine Pamela was petting gently wrapped itself around her finger.

She smiled softly, "So I get to stay then?"

Pamela glanced over to Jason's dead body. She sighed. Having to deal with the police would be difficult and there was no explaining what happened. She was going to lose her job either way and she knew that. This incident in conjunction with the fire at her old company wouldn't look too good on Pamela. She'd be out casted by the entire industry if not arrested.

Near the body was a stack of old newspapers that were intended to become mulch for the plants. Pamela didn't read newspapers often but she had the urge to look at the stack. She walked over to it, giving Dr. Woodrue's body a furious kick as she passed it.

The front page had the picture of a clown woman. The headline read_: Harley Quinzel Goes Harley Quinn!_

Pamela felt the name Harley was familiar and then she remembered.

_So the little bank robber finally made it. Wait... _

Pamela had been trying to play by the rules of people but Pamela barely felt human to begin with. She was so much more in tune with the flora. People didn't care for anyone or anything unless it concerned them. Only plants had come to her rescue and now she would come to their rescue and she would do it by any means necessary, the way nature intended.

There was a thud outside of the lab. It was faint to Pamela but she could hear it. She walked over to the wall and pressed her ear against it. Nobody should be in the building at this point in the night. Wayne Enterprises didn't favor working employees so late with the exception of security and custodial staff. Besides, Pamela was on one of the sub floors where no one other than her and the now deceased Jason Woodrue had clearance.

Pamela could make out muffled noises. It sounded like a voice. Pamela grabbed the potted ivy, the source of all the vines, and snuck out of the lab and quietly into the hall the extraneous vines creeping behind her.

"Mr. J," a female voice, nasally and accented, "you're being awfully quiet."

"Forgive me, I'm not used to making conversation," a male voice replied, "I'm used to working alone."

The female voice sounded familiar to Pamela but not nearly as familiar as the male voice. Pamela was sure she'd heard the voice before somewhere on television. They were both unique voices though and she found it irritating that she couldn't pin them.

"Oh," the woman replied, disappointed and then bright, "Well isn't it nice to have an accomplice now? Now you don't have to be alone!"

There was a pause. Pamela hid around the corner of the room. She wasn't ready to go out and attack anyone just yet. She wanted to listen and investigate. She slowly peered over the corner and just barely snuck a glance at the intruder.

_That's the Joker and...Harley? Small world. _

The Joker sighed heavily before turning around and grabbing Harley by the throat. He pushed her against the wall, choking her nonchalantly.

"Listen, Harley," he said calmly as Harley gagged and wheezed, "I'm the kind of guy who...kills accomplices. I don't work with anyone. Now, I like you, Harley; I think you have great potential but this whole pining puppy dog thing is getting kind of old."

Joker dropped her. Harley was on her knees, gaining her breath back slowly. Joker choked her often but Harley didn't seem to mind anymore. It was a love tap of sorts to her. She thrilled when those dirtied fingers would clasp around her soft neck. He choked the life out of her, not enough to take it but enough to draw it out in its rawness. She liked the way he would look at her, eyes as soft and beautiful as a hazel nebula peering out from those black and endless sockets.

"You haven't killed me yet," Harley coughed and smiled.

"That's the point, Harley: yet," Joker pointed out.

Joker turned his back on Harley and began setting up a detonator in the corner. Harley got up slowly. She wiped the bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. She walked up to Joker slowly, smiling gently.

"You'd never really hurt me, Mr. J. I know you wouldn't. I know you. You're not like that." she said as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

Joker's tongue popped out of his mouth and ran across his lips just as a sigh escaped them before he turned back around, grabbed Harley's arm and pinned it behind her back.

Harley yelped at the pain of her arm twisting behind her back. She tried to fight the hurt. This was just the way the Joker showed his affection and if this was going to work then she had to accept it.

"I know why you're doing this! I want you to know that it's okay!" Harley yelled through her tears as her arm started to pop and crack, "I accept you just the way you are!"

Joker released her arm and kicked her back, sending Harley toppling over. He leaned down and grabbed her by the pigtail. She just wasn't getting it. He was starting to think she never would.

Joker reached into his jacket with his free hand and pulled out a gun. He held it to Harley's head.

"Do you know what will happen if I pull the trigger?" Joker asked his voice as playful as ever, "I'll tell you what's not going to happen, your survival. I'm trying to be a good person for once and tell you upfront that I'd kill you on whim. Now why can't you just be a good girl and accept that?"

"I know you won't pull it!" Harley shouted her eyes closed tight, "You wouldn't do it! I love you!"

"Oh, Harley," Joker said apologetically, "Love doesn't exist. It's just an excuse for people to justify fucking each other."

"That's not true! I love you! More than anything! And I know you can love me back! I know you're capable of it!"

Harley's eyes shot open as she heard the sound of the gun's click. Joker's finger slowly pushed on the trigger. Harley would have to learn the hard way.

"What a shame," Joker lamented, "I really thought you'd be worth something."

Harley heard the gun shot. It was loud like a clap of thunder at her ear. Her eyes were wide, two blue dinner plates. Her breath was halted, stolen away in the sound of that monstrous thunder but she suddenly breathed in again.

"Don't you fucking touch her," Pamela growled angrily.

Harley turned over to her stomach and backed up quickly. A vine had taken hold of Joker's hand. The gun was turned upward and there was a shot in the ceiling. The alarm system started to go off, blaring loudly.

"You...you were going to kill me," Harley said quietly as she pointed a finger shyly towards the Joker.

"What is this?" Joker asked as the vine squeezed around his wrist tightly.

Pamela stepped out from the shadows. More vines appeared and seized Joker's limbs. They shoved him against the wall.

"Mr. J!" Harley called out.

Pamela approached the Joker, her vines squeezing his arms and legs. His hands were losing color as she glared at him, face to face.

"Men like you deserve to burn," Pamela hissed at Joker.

"Please don't hurt him!" Harley called out, "He's just– wait! I know you...you're that woman from my first bank heist...what happened to you?"

Pamela turned to say something but before she could reply, Joker burst into a fit of laughter. She turned back to face him, giving him her burning glare.

"What happened indeed?" Joker howled, "Did your daddy get a little freaky with the foliage? I've heard of fucking a watermelon but this goes to a whole new level!"

Pamela's vines threw Joker to the side and his body hit the wall with a definitive smack.

"Oh and speaking of burning," Joker laughed, "this whole place is going to be up in flames in uh...fifteen minutes!"

Harley ran up to Joker. She cradled him as he cackled away.

"And you still don't get it do you?" Joker hooted, "I was going to kill you. If it hadn't been for jungle woman over there, you would have been dead! Tell you what, since you're so desperate to please me–" Joker reached into his pocket and pulled out another gun, "Why don't you just shoot yourself, eh sweets?"

Joker plopped the gun into Harley's hand. Harley stared at it. The Joker was going to kill her. The Joker was in the process of killing her and it hadn't been love or guilt that had stopped him. She'd only been spared because of a stranger's interference. If Pamela hadn't been there, Harley would have been dead.

"C'mon," Pamela said as she held out a hand to Harley, "It's time to go."

Harley dropped the gun and slowly she took Pamela's hand. Harley gave one last lingering gaze to the Joker and he stared back at her with careless, empty disregard.

Pamela pulled hard on Harley's arm and forced her to a stand. Her grip was tight as she began to run out of the building, Harley on one arm and her vines in the other.

**A/N: So . Much. SADNESS. Why did so many bad things have to happen in this chapter? Abandonment? Rape? Abuse! I am just a mean writer! D: ...mwahaha...**


	13. But You And I Weren't Made To Love

**A/N: And now, I present to you yet another chapter! This one took a while to crank out but I'm glad I'm finally done with it and getting back into the swing of things!**

**WARNING: This chapter contains sexy sex and it is delicious. :9**

_It's all about the showmanship,_

_the batmanship,_

_the batman shit!_

_I've got it._

_I've got Batman waiting in the balconies_

_flying down just to see me_

_and jump on stage._

_Entrances on every page._

_Stage right!_

_Stage left!_

_Take a breath_

_and a bow!_

_Tell me, how_

_do you like the play, Bats?_

_Is there__ where you see yourself at_

_in the next twenty years?_

_I'm all ears_

_about the eternity,_

_the matrimony_

_that is our act!_

_It only takes a crime_

_to summon the Bat._

_Like a cue_

_just for you,_

_only for you_

_because this is what we do._

_You and I,_

_I get on stage and you fly_

_down to the smoke and fire,_

_Gotham's pyre,_

_the scenery _

_just for you and me._

_The smoke above_

_it smells like love,_

_don't it, Bats?_

_Don't it?_

Joker waited on a rooftop. He noticed that it was a lot quieter than it was earlier now that Harley was gone. Not that Joker really recognized it as Harley's absence. Joker was always like that, obscenely quick to forget. People Joker met were expendable though and often weren't worth remembering solely because they ended up dead. He would remember her perhaps when it was convenient or necessary but in his everyday thoughts, even just moments after her leaving, he forgot all about her. Why should he concern himself with her at all?

The only person Joker could fully recall day or night, present or absent, at any time and any place was Batman. He remembered him through dreams. He recalled him through fleeting memories. He summoned him in his very poetry. In the hurricane of chaotic amnesia that was Joker, Batman was the eye of the storm. Batman was the center and focal point of all the madness but he was also the most calming aspect. He was Joker's center.

Joker stuffed his theatrical poem into his pocket. Staying true to his nature, it had been written on stolen paper and in stolen ink. Joker smiled at the burning building of Wayne Enterprises. The colors of fire were beautiful, bits of gold and oranges raging in dance and black smoke fading into black sky.

The burning building served a dual purpose. Not only would it attract the Batman but it was also a warning of things to come. No, it was a prelude to Bruce Wayne's assassination. His building going down in smoke was only the opener for this escapade. Joker would show Gotham that no one was untouchable. No police officer, politician, nor pretty, rich boy was exempt from his teachings– especially not the pretty, rich boy.

Joker couldn't recall why he'd made the decision to want to kill Bruce Wayne. It seemed just as casual as any of his decisions ever were, whether with or without a real purpose. Joker knew though that there was a drive behind it but he was content to reason it as part of his quest for Gotham's soul.

There was a building across the street from Wayne Enterprises. It was a small thing, starting to deteriorate. Due to the recession, the company that used to own it had to relinquish it and there were no buyers yet. Wayne Enterprises had considered buying the building but it was a heated discussion among board members for a while until everyone forgot about it due to indecision. Now it just sat there, a crumbling sleek building with dirty windows and beautiful architecture, inhabited by the homeless and criminals alike but Joker had plans for this building.

Joker had easily emptied out the building beforehand. At this point in his criminal career, Joker needed to do little more than give a smile when he wanted something. It was almost disappointing in a way. Joker liked when people gave a bit of a fight. It made it that much more satisfying to win when they fought.

Now Joker just had to wait but even that seemed too mundane for him. He couldn't just stand, poised for the Batman, no. If he had to take the stage alone, he would dance for his fire, worshiping it in his own way. Not that Joker ever really worshiped anything but the raging flames and billowing smoke were as close to a god as Joker had.

Batman was on the scene of the fire in no time. He watched quietly from afar atop a taller building, allowing (for once) the officials to take care of it. The fire that was raging was intimidating but Batman stared it down. The black smoke coated the scene, hiding tangling colors of oranges and yellows like a sun trapped in smog. Underneath all that was Wayne Enterprises, _his_ building, _his_ company. Their headquarters was in flames. Thankfully, the few workers in the building had exited and were safe outside the flames leaving Batman with nothing to do but worry about the headache the fire would cause the next morning and wait until everyone had scattered so he could look for evidence of the fire's cause. This was certainly no accident. Batman could tap into the radio signals form the fire department. There had been reports of loud noises like bombs going off.

That's when Batman noticed it, a silhouette moving frantically in the fire. There was someone on the roof of the building, hidden behind roaring flames where no one could see or hear them. No one but Batman.

Batman immediately took action, gliding into the heart of the fire. He covered his mouth with his cape, trying to keep out the smoke. Even then, he coughed under its influence.

"Where are you?" Batman called out, unable to see clearly.

Joker's attention was caught. He could see the Bat now. He was coming to the rescue of course. Nothing less of the hero, Joker mused. Joker watched Batman, a dark solid of black against raging, blurry flames.

_Beautiful,_ he smiled.

Batman continued to search for the trapped victim despite the smoke getting to his head. There was so much of it, thick and dark as it found its ways to his lips. Batman began to go down on one knee; he couldn't take make much more.

Batman's eyes were closed as he felt the impact of a body against his. Arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. Batman opened his eyes slowly but the smoke made it too hard to see anything.

"You- all right?" Batman coughed out.

The person responded with a squeeze of their arms. Batman forced himself to a stand. He grabbed his cape and pulled it around the person, making sure to grip them tight in his arm. Batman pulled out his grappling gun with his free arm, aimed it at the taller building and swung them out of the fire.

Batman could feel something strange about the person he'd rescued. They had on some sort of headgear, bulky and obvious but Batman couldn't focus on it. He coughed hard as he swung to the nearest building, a small, sleek, albeit dirty looking one across the street. His grip was loosening on the grapple but he tried his best to hold on. The victim Batman was carrying moved a bit and pulled their face away from the shelter of Batman's shoulder to look at him.

Batman's face fell as he looked at Joker in a firefighter's mask.

They reached the smaller building and Batman couldn't keep his footing half due to shock and half because the smoke had made him light headed. Joker let go of him immediately, tumbling over. Batman rolled onto the rooftop, his face scraped on the concrete. They lied next to each other for a moment Batman breathing heavy and trying to steady himself and Joker laughing.

Batman lying on his side watched as Joker pulled the bulky mask off his face and smiled.

"Bats," Joker said casually to the fallen Bat as he stood, "if you didn't like my little dance all you had to do was say so, no need to remove me from my work."

"Joker," Batman growled as he tried to push himself off the floor.

"Oh no, no," Joker smiled as he knelt down and placed his hand on the top of Batman's head, "No need to get up. I want to remember _this moment_."

Joker smacked Batman's head against the floor and cackled. Batman could feel the world spinning as he tried to get up again.

"Y'know Bats, I've felt kind of lonely lately," Joker lied as he cupped Batman's chin, "Harley took off with some plant woman not that it's a loss exactly. She was kind of like a puppy except I'm not very fond puppies."

Joker used all his strength to pick Batman up.

"Unless you're kicking them?" Batman groaned as Joker's image came into focus.

Joker raised his eyebrows and looked to the left as if he'd contemplated kicking puppies before. Batman did not put it beneath him. He actually put it above him. Kicking puppies was saintly in comparison to Joker's hobbies.

Joker dragged Batman off the roof and into the building. He half dropped him once they were safely in the stairwell and the door was closed behind them. Joker walked over to the thin and barely rusting stair railing and leaned up against it.

"Why did you burn down Wayne Enterprises?" Batman asked.

Joker formed a fist and then rested his chin on it as he began to think.

"Why did I burn down Wayne Enterprises?" Joker sounded the question out, "Well, maybe I did it because Harley and I split up there and I actually do harbor some feelings for that little ball of homicidal sunshine. Or maybe I did it because I'm out to kill Bruce Wayne. Or maybe I did it because Wayne Enterprises is a big building and I like big fires."

_Kill Bruce Wayne!_

It was probable that none of the reasons were true but it was also possible that they all were. It was a gamble with Joker but Batman already knew that and the idea of Joker going after Bruce Wayne naturally produced the most concern.

"Thoughts?" Joker asked, smacking his lips.

"Why would you want to kill Bruce Wayne?" Batman asked.

"Oh, is he a friend of yours?"

_You could say that._ Batman thought to himself.

"He's a big target, Batman. He's rich and powerful and iconic." Joker proceeded to explain,

"He even visited me once, a playboy and a madman, one infamy to another. Sounds like a nice little screen play doesn't it? I think it'd make a great tragedy."

"He's hardly your level of infamy," Batman pointed out.

Batman had pulled himself to a sitting position by this point and steadied himself for a stand. Had he been with any other criminal, Batman would have been fighting tooth and nail long before this point but with Joker it was different. Batman could take his time and recuperate. Joker was in no rush to dispense of him. He wasn't in any rush at all and Batman knew that.

Joker sent a right hook straight to Batman's face sending Batman back over again.

"I told you not to get up, Bats," Joker scolded lightly, "You never were a very good listener."

Batman's head throbbed but his anger pushed him to get up and grab Joker by the collar. Joker smiled at him in a way that was both cheeky and seductive. Batman leaned in and out of Joker's face, unable to balance himself. Joker grabbed Batman by one of the points on his cowl. He glanced at the Batman's blood as it drew a red line from the corner of his mouth to his chin. Joker let his eyes fall to a close as he gently licked off the blood from the Bat's face.

"We just love to see each other bleed, don't we?" Joker whispered.

The lick had sent a tingle up and down Batman's body. It was happening again. The inevitable sexual tension of their encounters was gaining density. Batman felt he could reach up and grab it out of the air but he didn't have to. The aura of them was coming down all around them and Batman could do nothing to fight it.

"Stop it," Batman struggled.

Joker grinned at him unable to resist doing the opposite of what he was told.

"I'm afraid I couldn't if I tried." Joker explained as his face hovered too close to Batman's, "You spark something in me, Batsy. I don't know if it's the tight fitting rubber or the way you look at me with no fear. Maybe it's just the fact that you're a freak. We're two of a kind, you and me. Two of an out-casted kind."

"I'm nothing like you."

"And yet everything like me," Joker said, his voice still mocking but oddly serious, "You want to make a difference. So do I. A normal lifestyle isn't enough for you. Me neither. We're both two emotionally and psychologically screwed up guys who like to run around in costumes. You can't escape me, Bats. You don't even want to."

Joker kissed Batman. Batman hardly felt surprised by it but almost... hurt. Yes, that was what it was. As Joker pressed his lips against Batman's, Batman felt an inexplicable pain. It was torture so terrible and welcomed that Batman could neither advocate it nor fight it. It just hurt excruciatingly because Joker was right no matter how much Batman did and didn't want him to be.

_I wonder...did Jack feel this?_

Batman's mind had wandered too close to Bruce's and before Batman could stop himself, Bruce's and Jack's love making entered his thoughts. He didn't want to remember Jack now. He couldn't afford to but Joker's touch seemed to ignite the memory.

Batman pushed Joker off of him. Joker fell to his back, arms and legs flailing in over dramatics, but he quickly came back up.

"Don't touch me!" Batman bellowed.

Joker looked at him curiously and then with deviancy.

"Then touch me, Batman," he invited, his legs spread and his chin held up and out for a hit as he leaned his back against the railing again, "Go ahead, take it out however you want."

Batman hesitated. Joker couldn't be serious. It was a trap. Cameras would be there at any moment or reporters.

Joker rolled his eyes. It wasn't like him to offer himself up to Batman's emotions but what was the worst that could happen? Batman could beat him within an inch of his life but he wouldn't kill him. Joker loved pain anyway. Batman might incapacitate him and send him to jail or Arkham but he'd already done those things before and it proved to be of little consequence to Joker. Or Batman might end up fucking the Joker's brains out.

_And there's no denying that I'm a fan of that option. Think of the implications._ Joker thought.

"Well? C'mon, Bats. Just," Joker paused, "go with it."

Batman stared at Joker.

_Just go with it?_ Batman reiterated to himself.

Bruce's memory flashed to Jack's hot breath against his ear. The same words came out of Jack's mouth all husky and pleading.

"Go with what?" Batman asked himself more than Joker.

_The fact that you left me?_ he thought, his alternate identity taking over and shouting hypothetical accusations at an imaginary Jack, _That you never want to see me again? That you never loved me? Go with that? You want me to just go with that?_

Batman tackled Joker in his rage. He sat on top of Joker as he gripped him by the lapels. The stairwell was so small and cramped, they barely fit like that. Joker laughed as the baited Bat took the opening. Joker didn't care what he did to him.

_He's touching me; that's all that matters._

Batman slammed Joker's body into the ground as the madman cackled and giggled away. Why had Jack left him? Why? Because of this? Because of the darkness and rage that had fueled him to slam a man repetitively into a concrete floor? Because he couldn't stop the sexual arousal and violent urges that surged through his body? Because, as much as Bruce would deny it, he was every bit as crazy and a freak as the Joker accused him to be?

"This is great!" Joker howled with laughter, "This is just beautiful. You're so passionate, Batsy. It's beautiful. You're beautiful!"

Beautiful. It was a strange word for one man to associate to another or for an enemy to call the other but Batman was fully aware that he and Joker filled no roles of normalcy. The word seemed to push Batman that much more over the edge.

"Shut up!" Batman bellowed.

Joker, even in his madness, seemed to understand Batman. Perhaps it was the madness itself that caused the understanding. Joker seemed to accept everything that was dark and violent about Batman, encouraged it really. Was Batman truly incorruptible?

_No...I'm not._ Batman thought bitterly. If he had been then he wouldn't have been beating Joker to a pulp in that instant. Batman was every bit as corruptible as anyone else simply because he was, as Joker had always known and understood –dark. There was always darkness to Batman, violent and muted but turbulent when Joker came into the picture. Joker set fire to Batman's darker feelings and Batman wanted nothing more than to embrace it.

Batman pulled Joker up and into an angry kiss. Batman was bitter and torn as he always had been. Had there ever been a moment of happiness in his life? He couldn't remember one at least not without the moment being overshadowed by death. It was always death too. Bruce and Batman's moments could live past heartbreak and abandonment but death, the eternal separation? There was no surviving that.

_But no matter how much I hit you, no matter many bruises and cuts and broken bones you get...you never die, do you?_

Batman bit Joker's lip near the corner of his mouth. He bit it hard and rough making the flesh trickle out blood.

Joker felt his body start to move on its own. It crawled closer to Batman, pressing the hero into a sitting position. Joker sat in Batman's lap and wrapped his legs around him as their kiss intensified, bloodied and rough.

The positions and actions felt similar and yet different. Their bodies felt familiar to each other, conditioned by fight and struggle but also by something unknown to them. They knew just where to kiss and just where to touch and they did so as if they were still fighting, finding the most tender spots and mercilessly claiming them.

_I do like to make you bleed_, Batman admitted to himself. Blood stains were printed on Joker's neck and face and Batman could feel ghosted stains of Joker's kiss on his own flesh. Batman forced Joker's mouth to his again, tasting his blood on his tongue and mixing it with his own.

Batman held Joker by his hair, tight fists gripping green locks. Joker took the hits as he often did, not of a submissive accord but by a mocking one. There was nothing Batman could do to him that would hurt. He invited the violence and the pain as he always had and he embraced it whole heartily. It didn't degrade him. It completed him.

Batman pulled away for just a moment to catch his breath and Joker felt the air hiss out him slowly. Even in the momentary pause Joker could feel himself coming down from his high. His thoughts began to wander. He wanted to do this for deviant purposes but as he began to come down he could feel his heart breaking from the separation. Joker wasn't fooling around with Batman to mess with him. No, he did it because he ached for him in every way imaginable and in those few seconds Joker could feel the absurdly human need return and it frightened him. He hated it.

Joker grabbed Batman by the face and dragged him closer. He was too hungry for it to stop. He needed Batman so recklessly. It was panicked and hysterical. He was desperate. Joker could only feel in the moment, in the actions but he couldn't reflect on them not even for a moment so it had to keep going.

"Do it," Joker commanded, his hands fighting with Batman's belt, "Do it because you want me! Because you hate me! I don't care if it kills you to do it just do it!"

_Because it'll kill me if you don't._

It was an outright request for something Batman thought would never happen but it was more than Joker's words that propelled him. It was the cold, small stairwell. It was the heat between them. It was the sinking feeling in Batman's heart and the desperation in Joker's face. Most of all, it was the taste of his blood, warm and coppery. Dark and beautiful and real.

Batman pushed Joker onto his back. Joker fidgeted with his pocket, searching for something as Batman pulled down his armored fabric to his knees and removed his protective cup. Batman spat into his glove and rubbed his saliva over his bulging cock.

Joker retrieved a knife from his pocket and sat up. He held it out to Batman, his eyes leaving no room for argument. Batman needed little explanation.

Batman grabbed the knife by the handle and took it from Joker. Batman pulled his gloves off with his teeth, switching the knife as needed. He grabbed Joker's leg and held the knife to his ankle. Batman hated the costume. He hated Joker's painted up appearance and false, jovial colors. Batman then tore the knife up Joker's pant leg, splitting the purple fabric into jagged angles. After cutting past the waistband, Batman gently glided the blade over Joker's stomach before cutting towards and down the other pant leg.

Joker's purple pants lied there in two shreds. Batman grabbed what hid away Joker's entrance, wadded it up and threw it down to the side along with the knife. The knife clattered against the floor and Batman didn't bother to register the fact that Joker hadn't been wearing any underwear. Batman stared down at Joker's manhood, fingering the knife and biting his lip.

Batman cut a slit in Joker's flesh. A red line of blood formed on Joker's upper leg, too close to the joint between his thigh and groin. Batman grabbed Joker by the back with one hand and attacked the slit with his tongue. Batman greedily lapped up the emerging blood.

Joker's breath was strained as he tried to adjust to Batman's tongue dipping into his flesh but it wasn't enough. Joker grabbed Batman's other hand and stole the knife away from it. Joker slid the blade across Batman's palm swiftly and then dropped the knife to the side. Batman grunted at the cut, the sound vibrating in Joker's wound. Joker held Batman's hand for a moment before bringing it up to his face. He let his other arm prop himself up as he wiped the Batman's spilling blood against his lips.

It was a sharing of their life-force. It all made sense to the both of them as they drank and bathed in each other's little lines of bloodshed. Without Batman, there would be no Joker and without Joker there need not be a Batman. One was the livelihood of the other. The blood of the other. Joker's tongue emerged from his lips, too tempted not to steal some of the blood on his lips as Batman's mouth strayed closer to Joker's erect member.

Joker gasped lightly as Batman solved his member's longing. Batman grabbed it firmly and ravaged it with his tongue, quick and circular movements around the tip and long, fleeting trips up and down the shaft. Batman's finger groped for Joker's blood. Once his fingers were soiled with the red, Batman traced it around Joker's entrance. Batman did it until he could no longer prevent the inevitable.

Batman suddenly grabbed Joker by the legs. He held them by the thighs, holding them up and apart. Batman looked at Joker's bloodied entrance. It was a final act of closeness, the only unity they didn't know and yet, Batman had the haunting feeling they'd always known.

Joker looked at Batman, angry and desperate and aroused. Batman looked back at him more mutual than he could ever say. Joker's tongue ran across his lips one last time, tasting Batman's blood.

Batman pushed his cock inside of Joker. It went in slowly, inch by painful inch. Joker's breath was choppy and loud as Batman entered him. His tongue danced about his lips as his eyes welled with tears.

Batman stopped biting his lip as he fully entered Joker. Joker's scattered and heavy breathing made something thrill in Batman. He could feel himself connect with Joker and in doing so felt all the chaos and madness. What Batman was doing was so wonderfully immoral and crazy and Batman loved it. It wasn't about Jack or taking things out anymore. It was about the wrong in Batman. The wrong in Joker. The shared darkness between them.

Joker laid there still for perhaps the first time in his life. His hazel eyes stared straight at the ceiling. He could feel the Batman inside of him. Batman's full, engorged member was sitting inside of him. Batman was truly just a man. He was a mortal human and as Joker lied there, he felt his own mortality sink in.

_Get out of me._ Joker thought as he let the tears fall from his eyes.

Batman shuddered with a breath as he pulled out slightly before pushing back in. Joker's hands formed fist and he clenched them.

"Make it hurt!" he growled.

Batman wasn't one to take commands. He slid in and out again slowly. With every nerve caressed by sensuous pleasure, Batman hated himself more and more but he thrilled in his freedom.

"Harder!" Joker yelled again, his voice gruff and angry, "Make me bleed!"

_Bleed._ There was that word again. Batman and Joker was a love of blood, each other's.

Joker needed it to hurt. He needed it to be painful enough to justify it to his psyche. If it didn't hurt then Joker would be in danger of his dream. He'd lie there, faceless and not knowing who he was, knowing that everything he believed was wrong and that his humanity was not in his brutal and anti-social insanities but in his obsessive feelings for another. He was only made human by the Bat. Only made human by his sick obsession or else not human at all.

Joker reached for the knife and dragged it across each shoulder and he yelled as he did. The cloth tore easily under the sharp blade as did his flesh. The blood spread onto the greens and purples of the fabric, turning them crimson-black.

Batman eyed the new blood with hunger and leaned up to it, licking and biting into the fresh wounds. He continued to pump in and out of Joker's body slowly rising in pace and thrust. He wanted to savor every moment, every second of the horrible completeness between them. Batman wanted to revel in the freedom and darkness of making love to his madman, his one and only. Every beautiful and broken breath was to be his forever.

Joker's fists balled tighter. The pain was overcoming him as teeth bit at raw, bloodied flesh. Batman was starting to slam every inch of that impressive member into Joker as well causing Joker to gasp between clenched teeth. It was beautiful. Invasive. Painful. The basic, human essence to their fucking did not escape Joker though. They were two soul mates, mating in dark of a stairwell, hiding from the moonlight and Gotham and the world. Just the two of them.

Joker's lips let out a throaty moan as Batman thrust into him. Batman had discovered Joker's source of pleasure. Batman hesitated for no more than a second before slamming into it repeatedly. Joker couldn't help himself. He reached down, his arm shaking, to his own fully erect member and began to pump at it in time with Batman's rhythm.

Batman had wanted Joker for so long, tempted by lingering touches and that shy, teasing tongue. He wanted Joker in all his madness to be like him and rescue him all at the same time. That madness...no, that man...he was intoxicating. He was beautiful.

Joker felt himself near a climax but he held it off. He wanted to stay close to his beloved Bat like this forever. He'd give anything to feel this real, to drown in a love so thick and angry that he didn't have to be crazy. That Joker didn't feel the urge to maim and kill and hurt. No sudden rushes or impulses just closeness and completeness. The world didn't need to burn. They needed to burn, Joker and Bat, together in an eternity like the moment they were in. Burning forever as one.

Batman shuddered as he felt his seed spill into Joker. He bucked a few more times until he heard Joker's final gasp and Joker's essence spilled onto his plated abs. They had become one in body and blood and semen and sweat. It was done. They had really done it.

Batman pulled himself out of Joker, pulled the lower of his suit back over and then paused. Batman leaned in closer as he heard Joker making breathy noises.

Joker couldn't stop himself. The minute Batman pulled out of him, it donned unto his wickedness that he'd gotten Gotham's unloved hero to sleep with him. Yes, according to the Joker absent of the sexual high, it was all a plot that came to fruition and Joker couldn't stop laughing.

Batman looked down at the shredded bits of Joker's pants, wadded up and to the side. His eyes grazed over Joker's entrance now coated with blood and semen. His eyes landed on the ripped, bloodied lines of Joker's shoulders and finally, Joker's breath like noises firmed into a full cackle.

Batman stood up to his feet and looked down at Joker's face. Joker's smile was upturned into a devilish grin. His smile was too wide and it wasn't the scars that made it seem so. Joker was laughing _at_ Batman, mocking him once more.

"Tell me, Bats," Joker managed amongst his giggles, "Did you break a rule? Oh, I know you'd never kill me. No, you'd never do that but fuck me? You're one sick pervert, Bats."

Joker burst again into laughter. Batman took a step back.

_He...he planned this?_

It couldn't be fake. It was too real to be part of some plot. Wasn't it? No man could feign all that...right?

"What are you going to tell Gotham about this escapade, huh, Batman?" Joker continued, "Are you going to admit just what kind of twisted fuck you are? If they knew, Batman, if they ever knew!"

Batman's eyes were wide. It was a lie then. It was all a lie.

How could he have done this- this atrocity? A twisted fuck, that's really all he was wasn't he?

_That's really all _we_ are..._

Joker continued to rant and howl with laughter even as Batman escaped into the darkness. Joker looked up and noticed Batman's absence after a few minutes. He'd never laughed so hard in his life. His ribs were aching from the severity of it. Joker listened as his cackles and giggles bounced off the walls of the stairwell. His laughter seemed to come from everywhere. It filled the room like it never had before.

Joker's laughter slowed and calmed though. It came down steadily and the joyous, surreal-like quality of it's echoes began to disappear. Soon there was nothing but the near silent sound of tears rolling off his face and landing on concrete. Joker lied there in the dark and silence as his thoughts overwhelmed him. There was no one to laugh at now. He was all laughed out and now he was trapped with what was left of him and all he seemed to have was tears. Joker's reached up and touched one with his fingers somewhat confused.

_I'm crying._ He deducted as he lied there. _I've never done that. Why am I-?_

_...Batman..._

Joker had laughed at him, laughed until his face turned blue and ridiculed him even as Batman had stood there with a look of...horror. Joker had enticed him, pulled him into something Batman was never meant to do and then mocked him for it. His beloved Bat stared at him with disgust and disdain not for the Joker but what _he'd_ done. A face Joker knew Batman would see in every mirror and every rain puddle. That beautiful stern look of brutality was gone and in its stead was a broken Bat.

Joker should have been proud. He should have been overjoyed and he was, for a moment. There was a momentary high of absolute victory. He showed Batman just what a twisted and sick individual he really was through blood and semen and raw fucking. There was no ignoring this altercation. It would be forever etched in Batman's mind. A mark of just how one and the same he and the Joker were.

But now Joker lied there staring at a blank ceiling unable to move or speak or stop crying because he too would never be able to forget.

It wasn't stirrings of guilt. Joker never felt guilty. It was something else. Batman was gone and the moment was over and Joker knew that it would never happen again. That closeness would be forever lost to him. Batman may have been rough but he was also tender. He may have bit at wounded flesh but he also kissed. He'd held Joker's hips so gently and made sure to please him. He'd shed Joker's blood but he allowed his own to be shed. Now Batman's warmth and blood and presence were gone and Joker sat there feeling emptier than he ever had before.

Nothing compared to that closeness. Not fire or crime. Not murder or anarchy. For those few minutes, those beautiful moments, Joker was human and whole and high. He was beautiful and perfected and open and raw. He was loved unlike any love before.

_Love doesn't exist. It's just an excuse for people to justify fucking each other._

"No," Joker argued with his thoughts, "It's not. The Batman- Bats, he- the Batman!"

Joker let out a primal scream. The sound erupted from deep down in his gullet, racking at his throat. It wasn't a conflict of belief in Joker. It was so much more. Joker didn't have beliefs; he had an absolute nature absent of conscience opinion. Love was a concept that did not exist outside of idealism. It was nothingness just as Joker was nothingness and everything was nothingness in the end.

_But if love doesn't exist and all is nothing then why do I feel something? WHY DO I LOVE!_

The poor twisted and divided mind pulled at Joker's every nerve and muscle as it tried to address the situation. It was hopelessly trying to fix itself and keep from tearing apart. Joker's screams were that of a man being slaughtered and heartbroken all at once as if ever muscular fiber, every tendon and strand were pulling apart in attempts to wrap back together and repair.

The complicated and broken being in that Gotham stairwell suffered until it quieted the Joker all together.

Jack gasped for air as his body shook. He was all too aware of everything. Joker's incompleteness, his psychosis. Jack cried heavily as he forced the air back into his lungs with desperate wheezes. He choked on his sobs. Joker's pain was his pain and yet it wasn't. Everything in Joker's being was common knowledge to Jack but it didn't really belong to him. Joker and Jack weren't the same person and as Jack sat there, called upon once again by one of Joker's break downs, he wondered; _am I really a person at all?_

**A/N: Wow...even when I write sexy sex I still have to end on a sad note. D:**


	14. You're Real and I'm Not

**A/N: I am determined to finish this fic before the release of the next movie. DETERMINED! D:**

_Encounter 138_

_I've given myself some time to record this. I wasn't prepared to say out loud what happened right after it occurred. I wasn't prepared for anything._

_I've done nothing for three days now. Three days of just staring at my ceiling. I would have thought I'd be showering repetitively but I can't even bring myself to do that. I can't wash away my shame. I could never willingly wash away the smell of his sweat or the taste of his blood._

_...he's right. I am a twisted little fuck._

_I can't say it. What happened. What we did I should say. It should be obvious. I know it's obvious. It's so fucking obvious it hurts. Anybody could see it! Everybody expects it! Why not just say it! Why not just admit to my shame! Say exactly what it is I am!_

_...I'm just a man._

_I'm only a man..._

Bruce slammed his fists into the computer's keyboard sending the large terminal to spasm. Bruce didn't even remember how he got down to the Batcave but there he was, attempting to give a factual account of something he couldn't begin to accept. Bruce was a wreck, refusing visits from anyone. He didn't even try to fake surprise or loss when he was contacted about the Wayne Enterprises' building going down in flames.

Lucius had stopped calling altogether. He always tried to be so professional and when he asked if Bruce was all right, Bruce had just told him to take care of the company. A stern voice had no effect on Bruce. Lucius was not Alfred. He couldn't get him to open up even if he wanted to. Even if he did, what would Bruce tell him? How could he begin to explain the complications that were Joker and Batman's relationship? The complication of what they'd done?

Gordon wasn't much help either. He tried to visit Bruce, under the guise of investigating the fire, but Bruce didn't even answer the door. There really _was_ no explaining it when it came to Gordon. Bruce was pretty sure Gordon would blow Batman's cover and lock up Bruce for an eternity before Bruce got half way through a confession.

There was no explaining it to anybody really. How could Bruce ever put into words the overwhelming self-guilt, the self-hatred and that terrible sense of betrayal? Betrayal. That was laughable. As if he should have ever expected anything else from a romance as wrong and dark as the one between Batman and Joker. If it was a romance. Having ever believed that it was real, even for a moment, was nothing but a betrayal of Batman's perspective.

Bruce looked around at the Batcave and his eyes made the mistake of landing on his bat suit. It sat there, proudly clinging to the muscled mannequin. The see through, glass chamber the suit was kept in automatically cleaned the bat suit upon re-entry. There wasn't a speck of blood or semen on it now. It was dark and pristine, shining in the bluish light above it.

_How can I put it on again? How can I ever be _him_ again?_

Bruce walked up and put a hand on the glass. Bruce hated to admit it but Batman had been a symbol to him too. Even now as it gazed back at him, lifeless and bodiless, Bruce felt the very essence of Batman: strong, moral, resolute, absolute. These were things Bruce emulated, the things he strived to be even if only when under cape and cowl.

But he'd soiled it. Now Bruce felt as if he just used his identity as the caped crusader for escapism and a kink. He didn't have to be sad or alone when he was Batman and as Batman he'd developed a torrid and terrible love for a madman.

_But can I really blame Batman for it?_

That was another thing. If Bruce was just a man and Batman ended up being just a man then which man was to blame for what had happened? Was it Batman that enticed these feelings? Or was it Bruce? Outside the context of being Batman, could Bruce have developed such a sick and twisted affair? Or was it Bruce's emotions that had caused all this to happen?

Maybe Batman was never a symbol. Maybe Batman _was_ just escapism, the fantasy of a little broken boy gone too far. Batman was never a hero. Bruce was never a hero. He was just a man trying to make his dead parents proud. A sad little boy trying to repair his shattered psyche by trying to change the world. Bruce was a brooding, lonely man and Batman...Batman was everything that came after.

_I'm just a joke._

"Sir, there's a visitor at the door," the computer announced.

Bruce reluctantly lifted his head to glance at his visitor's image on the screen. It didn't really matter whether he looked or not. He had no intention of answering the door. He wasn't sure if he'd ever make it to his front door ever again.

Bruce's eyes widened as he looked upon the visitor.

_It can't be..._ Bruce thought.

Jack stood in front of the mansion door. How was it that no matter how many times he told himself not to go the manor, he ended up going there anyway?

_Because I'm a selfish bastard_ he thought as he sighed and pushed the doorbell again.

Jack knew better than to go to Bruce. Seeing Bruce was dangerous in and of itself. Joker had it in his mind to kill Bruce and there was nothing more convenient than letting him through the front door. Jack should have stayed away for that purpose alone because eventually, Joker would rise once more.

_Because I failed._

Jack's attempt to get rid of Joker had done nothing but summon him. How could he ever hope to bury the Joker? There _was_ no burying the Joker. This was Joker's body. This was his mind. Jack was just a visitor. A temporary solution. So then, why was he at Bruce's mansion?

_Because I have nowhere else to go,_ he answered himself quickly, _and because there's nowhere else I _want_ to go._

Jack knew full well why he was here. He wanted to say goodbye, a proper goodbye. Jack knew that a note wasn't enough for Bruce and it was never supposed to be. He'd had every intention of coming back but now things were different. Now, Jack knew that he was nothing but a mental bandage, a psychological scab to cover over Joker's spiraling mind. He was never even really a person, was he?

_Even so, I have to say goodbye. I need to._

Jack couldn't promise Bruce the things he wanted to. He couldn't base a love and relationship off of being a random identity. He couldn't love Bruce with a body that wasn't really his. He couldn't speak to Bruce with a mind that wasn't his own. He couldn't give Bruce a heart that wasn't his to give.

Bruce's hand hovered over the front door's lock. He knew exactly who was on the other end. He knew that he felt like hitting him. He knew he felt like holding him. All he ended up doing though was hovering over that door lock.

Jack was growing impatient. He didn't know how much time he had left. It was up to anyone's guess when Joker felt like resurfacing. He couldn't wait forever, as much as he'd be willing to. Jack knocked on the door.

Bruce flinched a little at the sound and quickly unlocked the door. He tried not to think about it and just do it but he knew all too well what letting Jack in would mean.

_I have to tell him what happened. I have to talk about this..._

The idea of putting it into words broke Bruce. He turned away from the door. His hands grabbed for his hair and he hid his face in his elbows. Why did it have to be Jack? Couldn't it have been Gordon or Lucius? Anyone else? Anyone but Jack...

Jack looked at the door curiously. Sure enough, he heard the suspicious click and turn of a lock. He reached for the door knob, his hand resting on it.

"Bruce?" Jack called quietly.

Bruce felt himself start to tear up, too vulnerable to convince himself otherwise.

_God, I've missed his voice._

Jack waited but he heard no reply. He couldn't just sit there especially when somebody was obviously there. Someone had unlocked the door and Jack figured it was up to him to open it and let himself in. Jack turned the knob quickly.

"Bruce?" Jack called again as he opened the door.

Jack came to a halt as he stared at Bruce's back. It was bare and dirty and it was shaking. His shoulders convulsed, hiking up and down.

"...Bruce?"

Bruce's cries were soft, almost silent but he was crying nonetheless. It was too much for him, as cold and unemotional as he tried to be. He'd done something terrible. He didn't know who he was anymore. He felt like a fraud and a failure. He was so completely lost and-

"What are you doing here?" Bruce said sternly as he tried to fight his tears, "I thought you left."

Jack took a step towards Bruce. It hadn't occurred to him that this was what had become of Bruce. He was a grown man, crying and hiding in the dark. Jack could smell the scent of sweat and sour coming off of Bruce. What had he been doing these past three days? What had Jack done to him? What had Joker done to him?

_...I'm sorry._

"I'm here now, Bruce," Jack tried, unable to pull himself away.

"For how long?" Bruce accused, abandoning hiding his face and glaring at Jack.

"Well, I-"

"When do plan on leaving me again?" Bruce said bitter and angry, "Tomorrow morning? Tonight? Just save me the surprise and tell me."

Jack took another step towards Bruce. He could feel the urge to turn tail and leave. He was offended and annoyed and still he couldn't stop from wanting to comfort Bruce. Jack's feelings, for once, didn't matter.

"What happened to you?" Jack asked, his hand reaching towards him.

Bruce dropped his head down. He would just say it. He had to. It wasn't so much an urge to fight his confessional that made his body shake and jerk with tears but the overwhelming need to make it.

"I fucked him, Jack," Bruce said, "I fucked Joker."

Jack's eyes widened at this. It wasn't a surprise to him. He remembered the sex vividly. It was passionate and desperate. It was beautiful to Jack, like a fractured bond consummated in the dark, all sweat and blood and love. It was like something out of a tortured love affair. It was absolutely breath taking.

It was how Bruce phrased it that shocked Jack. Fucking. Like it was something dirty and wrong. Jack's notions of beauty and grandeur were belittled by the word.

_Fucking,_ Jack thought, heartbroken on behalf of Joker.

"I'm fucked up, Jack." Bruce continued, wiping away at the tears on his face, "You were right to leave me."

"Hey!" Jack protested, "Who said I was leaving you?"

Bruce looked up at Jack. Jack's brow was furrowed and he looked at Bruce as if he'd been wrongly accused of something.

"I can't leave you, Bruce," Jack continued casually, "I love you too much."

Jack took in his own statement. It was true. Even though he had every intention of saying a proper goodbye he couldn't muster one up not here, not now, not like this. Not ever really. Jack didn't want to say goodbye and if Jack knew anything about himself it was that he was selfish. No, he wouldn't say goodbye to Bruce. It would be like lying.

_Because if I ever come up again, if Joker ever needs me, I know exactly where I'll be. I need Bruce and maybe...maybe he needs me._

Who else could ever bring peace of mind to Bruce? Who could ever understand him the way Jack did so wordlessly and effortlessly? They were a nessecity to each other, the recovery systems of their alter egos, dependent on one another to pick up the pieces of a violent love.

_But can I even have need? Or fulfill Bruce's needs? ...I'm just a band aid, right?_

"Everyone leaves, Jack." Bruce said, staring him down, "One way or another, they always leave and there's nothing I can do to save them."

Jack couldn't take it anymore. He walked up to Bruce and put his hands on Bruce's shoulders. He stared back at him fervently. Bruce looked back at him unsure how to address the sudden intensity. Jack's eyes spoke to Bruce, demanding absolute attention. Bruce lingered on the small gap of silence, waiting for the words in Jack's eyes to make themselves known.

"You're right," Jack said.

Bruce's eyes grew wide.

_He's agreeing with me?_

"You can't save anyone, Bruce, not really, whether you're dressed as Batman or not." Jack's voice began to break a little, "And there's no guarantee that I'll be here tomorrow or tonight or even in the next hour. There's a lot you don't know about me, things I can't begin to tell you but sometimes I lose myself. I literally lose myself and I become someone that I find wonderful and terrible. That's why I disappear all the time, Bruce, because I want to save you from that side of me. Because you deserve better than him, better than me too."

Jack put his arms around Bruce. He held him tight in his arms despite the smell and dirt of him. He loved that Bruce was dirty. It made his purpose to repair and clean Bruce's wounds seem that much more viable.

Bruce stood there, almost unable to grasp the eeriness of Jack's words. Jack had felt and thought things that Bruce had. Batman was wonderful and terrible. There was no telling when he'd become him and because of Batman, Jack (and everyone else Batman had known) deserved better than Bruce.

_How does he know me? How is he so like me?_

"But no matter how much I tell myself that I don't belong here, I always come up and I always come here. To you. Every time. You're what keeps me alive, Bruce. You're what keeps me real and while you may not be able to save me and keep me, you _make_ me. You're the reason I'm here."

Bruce slowly wrapped his own arms around Jack. He felt the urge to cry again but he wouldn't. He had too much control of himself now to shed tears.

"What about Joker?" Bruce asked, "He and I- we-"

"Let me ask you this, Bruce, did it mean anything?" Jack asked.

Jack couldn't help himself. If he could put a spin on it, any spin on it that would let Bruce accept it he'd do it. He couldn't explain the Joker to Bruce; it would arouse too many questions and suspicions. He couldn't tell him how Joker had an incapability to love and yet loved. He couldn't explain Joker's true feelings. He couldn't tell him that the Joker loved Batman as much if not more than Jack loved Bruce.

In way he didn't want to because if Joker and Batman were the disease and Bruce and Jack were the cure, then wasn't it time for them to just be healthy...together?

"I can't explain it," Bruce answered, his face buried in Jack's neck, "It was...everything."

Bruce didn't want to say that to Jack. He loved Jack too much to tell him about the experience of making love to Joker. It would have been insulting but he couldn't lie about it either. The whole experience ended up being shameful and degrading, an embarrassment Bruce had never known but that was after. Bruce, no matter how hard he tried couldn't cheapen the act itself and it was...everything.

"If everyone leaves you," Jack said, "and Joker has been the only consistent person in your life then wouldn't it make sense that you would fall in love with him?"

_Yes..._

"Not to mention you have this intense rivalry and sometimes that intensity can change, morph into something sexual," Jack continued, starting to pet Bruce's neck, "but you forget that Joker's crazy. No matter how much you want him and want to save him and keep him, you can't cure him, Bruce."

"But it's wrong. Everything about me and him is wrong." Bruce said, pulling away from Jack, "I'm a freak."

"It's not!" Jack yelled, frustrated and pulling away, "And you are not a freak! If you are then I am too. Everyone is!"

Jack's couldn't help but defend the disease, too infected himself to stop.

"Go ahead; try to explain to me why anyone loves anybody when they're flawed. We're all a little crazy, Bruce. We're all a little messed up and twisted and wrong but we love in spite of it all and no matter how fucked up the relationship is the feelings are never wrong!"

Bruce was quiet. He didn't know what to say to Jack's outburst. So everyone was freak then simply because they loved?

_Joker calls himself a freak all the time. So...does he love too?_

"It's not called being a freak, Bruce, it's called being human." Jack calmed, "The only freaks in this world are the people who can stop their feelings. I know you tried Bruce, I know that's what Batman is for but you have to remember, you're Bat_man_. A mask doesn't change who you are. You're still you."

It was true, all of it. Bruce wasn't sure how it was that Jack could just peer into his soul and steal knowledge away from it but Jack was right. Batman wasn't a manifestation of justice. He was a manifestation of broken dreams and lost loved ones. In the end, Batman was Bruce and there was no denying it anymore. It wasn't a matter of choosing between one or the other. There was no other. It was all Bruce all along.

Jack sighed, preparing himself. In a way, he was going to hate himself for what he was about to do. He had to fight the infection at the root; Joker, but the answer to getting rid of Joker wasn't in getting rid of Joker. Maybe it was in getting rid of Batman that Jack could finally achieve the happiness he and his psyche longed for. The happiness Bruce longed for too. The cure of a lesser disease. In the end, everybody would win.

_Right?_

"But maybe it's time to put away the costume." Jack said.

Meanwhile, Harley sat across the table from Pamela. She had a pencil in her hand and a piece of paper in front of her. The small studio apartment seemed to enclose them to each other. Harley liked it in a way. It felt cozy. It reminded her of her college days where she'd snuggle up to a good book after her homework and laundry. Harley had hated a lot of places that she lived after that. Her old apartment was way too spacious and Joker's hideout consisted of entire buildings.

This room made her happy though. Just a few walls, some fixtures and furniture, and a friend.

_Not how like Mr. J was. I'd always have to sneak into his room. We should have had an apartment like this. Just me and him. Then he'd have to be with me..._

"Harley," Pamela snapped her fingers, "Harley, are you spacing out again?"

She really didn't have to ask. The blonde girl had that dreamy, sort of sad far off look in her eyes again. Harley did that a lot these past few days that Pamela had gotten to know her, or should it be said that Harley informed her? Harley seemed to never stop talking. The very next morning that Pamela rescued Harley, Pamela had woken up to a big breakfast and very talkative blonde and once Pamela informed Harley of her desire to become a thief and eco-terrorist of sorts, Harley got more than a little excited. So that's where they were now, elbow deep in coming up with a persona for Pamela's criminal activity, starting with a name.

But Harley had moments of silence, rare as they were. She'd be listening to Pamela or watching something or she'd get to the verge of conversing about her old criminal cohort and suddenly she'd drift off. Those pretty blues of hers would turn overcast and Pamela knew her new acquaintance was somewhere else.

_I know exactly where she's going._

"You know you can talk about it," Pamela urged, "We can come up with a name for me later."

Harley blinked twice.

"I'm sorry," she gave a breathy, half laugh, "I guess I zoned out there for a minute, what were you saying?"

Pamela reached over and plucked the pencil out of Harley's hand. She set it on the table and looked Harley dead in the eye.

"Talk," she commanded.

"About what?" Harley asked, innocently.

"You know damn well about what." Pamela encouraged, "That psycho you were with. I want to hear everything you have to say about it, everything you feel."

Harley dropped her eyes away from the redhead. She was hoping Pamela wouldn't bring it up and up until that point Pamela hadn't. Now Pamela stared her down, demanding and wanting information. Harley didn't know what to say. She didn't know where to begin.

"You wouldn't understand," Harley said softly.

"You'd be surprised," Pamela sighed heavily.

Harley looked up. Pamela appeared differently. She seemed smaller in a way. Maybe that was just how Harley perceived her though. Harley always saw sad people as smaller. It made her want to hold them, bring them into her arms like they're a child.

"The last relationship I had was hardly perfect to say the least," Pamela forced herself to open up. She hated it but she forced it anyway, "I was never good enough for him. He and I wanted different things but I never got anything I wanted."

"I think my situation's a little different, Red."

"He tried to shoot me too," Pamela said.

Harley's mouth dropped slightly.

"I wasn't always the person I am now," Pamela explained without really explaining.

"So, you weren't born a bad ass who takes on bank robbers?"

"No offense, Harley, but you were the most adorable bank robber I'd ever seen." Pamela laughed lightly, "It would have been hard to try and take you seriously."

Harley pouted a little and then smiled.

"Well, at least I'm adorable."

There was something in the way Harley smiled. Pamela knew the other woman was crazy, she'd read enough on her to know that much but she didn't seem crazy. She seemed perky and energetic and eager to please. She was cute and bubbly and rather nice. How could she be a criminal? It hardly seemed possible. How could someone so angel faced be a bad person?

"So, what happened to you?" Pamela asked, "I mean, why did you end up becoming a-"

"Mad woman?" Harley asked, looking guilty, "A crazy person? A criminal?"

There was pause. Pamela really didn't want to indicate an answer as the answer was all the above.

"I fell for an insane criminal genius," Harley answered, "but he taught me to stop being so strict and normal and stop striving to be something just to prove other people wrong. He made me feel like myself and it turns out I'm a really happy, carefree person who doesn't give a damn about psychology. But I guess I'm also a person who'd do anything for the one I love. Even if that means hurting other people and doing some real bad things."

Pamela's look softened on Harley. Pamela knew what it was like to want to please an abusive partner. She knew too well what it was like. Pamela used to be sweet and kind and quiet once upon a time and now she could barely recognize herself. Now, she just kept pushing to be meaner, more aggressive, always forcing herself to be colder, more ruthless, more unapproachable, in a word...stronger.

Pamela liked Harley the way she was though even if she did talk too much and even if her accent grated on her nerves from time to time. Harley was a sweet girl. She was so pretty and full of life. Pamela had wanted to be like that long before she came to Gotham. Harley was like a little ray of sunshine and Pamela couldn't help but like her.

Now though, that ray of sunshine was dim. Harley sniffled a little. She was crying.

"I never meant to hurt anybody," she said quietly, "I just wanted him to love me."

Pamela reached over and put her hand on top of Harley's. She grabbed her hand gently and gave her fingers a squeeze. It was more than sympathy that Pamela felt. She actually liked Harley and Pamela hadn't liked another person in a very long time.

"It's okay," Pamela said, "You don't have to try and please anyone anymore. You just be who you are, okay?"

Harley nodded and picked up her pencil again. Sure, being a criminal was wrong and she knew that but it was a part of her now. Harley had to keep playing her part, too far in to give it up, but she wouldn't hurt anybody like she had before. She would never hurt anybody again.

"You can't do this to yourself." Jack continued, "As powerful and amazing as Batman is, you're not ready to be him and maybe you're not stable enough for this thing with Joker either."

Bruce's heart sank down into his stomach. Years he had trained. He'd gone around the world to prepare himself to be Batman. He'd given every preparation possible and now he was reduced to this. He was dirty and crying and broken. He never felt like more of a failure.

"If I give up, then I've failed Gotham." Bruce said, "I've failed myself."

Jack couldn't help but realize just how similar Bruce and Joker really were. It pained Jack to see Bruce this way, splitting apart from living two lives. Trying to feel things and be someone he was incapable of. Jack knew what it was doing to Joker. It was the very reason he'd maintained prevalence in his psyche but that was Jack and Joker... how would this lifestyle affect Bruce?

"Please, don't be Batman," Jack pleaded, a new realization dawning on him.

"I can't just quit. It's my responsibility now." Bruce bitterly tried to reason.

"Don't be Batman, please, Bruce," Jack asked again, gaining urgency.

"You can't ask that of me!" Bruce yelled, still too damaged to be stable, "I have to be Batman! I don't have a choice!"

"I can't watch you fall apart!" Jack screamed, his voice filling the air in the room and then condemning it to silence.

Bruce stared at Jack wordlessly. Jack's entire body raged with a fear and desperation so powerful Bruce was taken aback by it. Jack was sensitive, Bruce knew that but this seemed to go beyond sensitivity. Jack could literally not bear the idea of Bruce being Batman.

"I'm begging you," Jack pleaded after a moment, his voice shaking from his tears.

Jack looked as pained as when he broke his ribs. He looked just as much a victim as he had then but he stood upright, looked at Bruce with tortured eyes pleading with him to make the pain disappear. Even when his ribs were broken, even when he had words carved into his flesh, Jack never asked Bruce to take the pain away like he was asking him to now.

Bruce couldn't ignore that. He couldn't just turn a blind eye to to him, to his suffering. Bruce could take all the suffering in the world if it was just his but he couldn't live with himself if he put Jack through it.

"You're dying, Bruce," Jack said taking in a shallow breath, "Please don't make me watch you die."

Dying. Death. Batman was linked with that concept since the very beginning. Batman had been a product of death and, no matter what Bruce told himself of need and justice, Batman was a means to fight death. In the end, Batman was nothing more than a reaper, an accomplice to his intended enemy and targeting the very people Bruce wanted to protect.

_Am I dying?_ Bruce wondered, _I feel like I am._

_...if Batman runs out of people to take as casualties, who will die next?_

Bruce looked carefully at Jack, eyeing him as if he'd disappear at any moment. Bruce tried to imagine what it would be like if Jack wasn't standing there, if all Bruce saw was an empty doorway tinted by the dusty yellow light of a blossoming dusk. Emptiness. Bruce imagined that emptiness everywhere, a hole which the loss of another life had created. An empty bed. An empty room. An empty heart.

Bruce knew he wanted to be more than the average man. He wanted to be uncorruptable, untouchable, and amazing. He wanted to be an embodiment of true justice combined with the never ending gaze and reach of the dark. He wanted not to care about trivial things like lovers or friends or family.

But Bruce did care and no amount of pretending could change that.

Bruce walked into the dimming light coming through the doorway. It didn't feel warm but it wasn't harsh either the way morning and noon light were. This light was simply there, tinting his skin a golden yellow as it touched him. Bruce bathed in the light, holding up his hand for a moment to look at the color.

Jack watched Bruce with anxiety and some admiration. Bruce was beautiful as he stood in the light. Even the dirt on his skin was golden. He'd seemed so pale in the dark, like a man who'd been banished but now he stood in the sun, free and beautiful.

"I promise," Bruce said, looking at Jack.

**A/N: I know this is supposed to be a happy scene but I feel inexplicably sad. :( What the heck self? Hm, maybe because this isn't the ending. Nope. Not by a long shot.**


	15. But You Made Me Feel Real

**A/N: Prepare thyself, reader, for the fifteenth chapter.**

_Deadly Dames Take Gotham by Storm: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, Beautiful Burglars on the Loose!_

Harley smiled at the newspaper headline with a glimmer in her eyes. There was something undeniably ego boosting about seeing one's self on the front page even if the picture was a little blurry and stolen from a security camera.

"Hey, Red!" Harley called from across the room, "Check out who made the papers!"

Ivy turned the corner. As good as she may have looked in the picture in the paper she didn't look half as healthy or dangerous as she sat at the table across from Harley. The plants in the room, even the vines that crawled up and down the walls, seemed to turn towards her but Harley wrote it off to Ivy's plant magnetism.

"Jesus, Red," Harley said quietly, "You don't look so good."

"Well, it's not exactly easy to build poison immunities," Ivy grunted as she rested her head in her hands.

Ivy was a little thinner than when she first started out and there was this constant green tint to her skin that began a week or two ago. It lingered on her flesh like a constant reminder of her plant motif not that it needed anymore accentuation.

Harley had gone to the trouble of really making Pamela's criminal career a debut. It was like some sort of diabolical, villain pageant and Pamela was the only contestant. Harley wanted Pamela to have a costume and a name and a gimmick. Pamela wasn't necessarily interested in all that. She just wanted to make sure that people knew her mission in life; to save the plant world from human tyranny by any means necessary but it was impossible to get Harley to see the difference. So Pamela used her knowledge of plant toxins to get the job done (not that she minded that part) and she ran around in the leaf bikini Harley had constructed for her (which she did mind but consented to when Harley almost started crying over her hard work not being appreciated).

Now though, the odd leaf bikini felt comfortable to Ivy maybe because that was who she was now. No longer Pamela but Poison Ivy, aptly named by the media in the end. Ivy was glad for that. She didn't really like Harley's name, Venus (as in flytrap). Harley had been depressed at first but eventually she came to accept too, citing that "the public wants what it wants."

So in the end, Pamela was no more and Ivy had risen to the occassion.

Harley looked at her cohort carefully. Sure, Ivy had come a long way since the beginning and quickly too. Ivy had this natural, cold tenacity and determination. Harley was talented too but she lacked the goal driven, business like demeanor Ivy possessed. Ivy took to criminal activity like a fish to water, or perhaps in her case like a plant to the sun.

But as strong as Ivy was growing in her criminal career her body seemed to fail her as she continued to pump it with toxins and poisons.

"Really, Ivy," Harley said as she placed her pink tinted, healthy palm on top of Ivy's sickly green hand, "I'm starting to worry about you."

Ivy pushed Harley's hand away and got up from the table. Harley had expressed her worry one too many times to Ivy and Ivy was sick of Harley trying to talk her out of her experiments.

"I don't need you to worry about me. I'm perfectly fine." she snapped, tired of Harley's incessant concern.

Ivy turned her back to Harley but before she did she caught a glimpse of Harley's face. Her blues were wide with shock and her red lined, full lips were slightly agape. It was a cheap shot and Ivy knew it. Ivy walked over to one of her potted plants. She tried to ignore Harley's expression as she watered her foliage friend.

_It serves her right. I said I was fine the first fifteen times._

Harley watched Ivy as she doted on her stupid plants once again, completely ignoring how rude she'd just been to Harley.

"I was just concerned you know!" Harley shouted.

Ivy winced a little but composed herself. She knew she was in the wrong but she didn't want to admit it. Ivy apologized to no one.

Harley waited for Ivy's response but she got nothing. Still Ivy petted and whispered lovingly to her plants. Harley stood up and slammed her palms down on the table.

"I'm talking to you!" Harley demanded.

Ivy's silence got the better of Harley and before she could stop herself Harley went up to Ivy's beloved little plant, picked up the pot it was in and threw it to the ground. Ivy's eyes were wide with shock as she turned back to Harley but for only a split second just before the pottery broke and clattered against the floor then her eyes shifted to fury.

"I'll kill you!" Ivy shouted.

"You listen to me, Red!" Harley yelled, "I did not leave Mr. J to be ignored by you, you understand! I am not gonna be pushed around anymore! You WILL listen to me and you WILL answer me!" Harley's eyes welled up, "God damn it, Red! I'm more important than a freaking plant! I'm a person!"

"Like that means anything to you!" Ivy shouted, "You don't care for _people_, Harley. You've made that very clear."

It didn't matter that what Ivy was about to say; it was wrong. It wasn't untrue but it wasn't right for her to say either. Ivy's glance fought back and forth between Harley and the broken pot on the floor. The soil was spilled out and the pottery was in pieces. The fledging vine seemed to twitch on the floor, it's small leaves crying out to Ivy. Ivy finally picked up the plant as her words sunk into Harley.

Harley's guard dropped slightly. Her fists unclenched and she eyed Ivy, confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"I see the way you've been taking out the guards," Ivy continued to spurt verbal venom as she coddled her plant in her arms.

"Yeah, I see you take them out too, so what?" Harley retaliated, regaining her stance.

Ivy turned her back to Harley.

"I kill people for the sake of getting the job done and you do it because it amuses you."

There was a space of silence between them. Ivy had planted a seed in Harley's mind and there was nothing she could do to change it. Ivy couldn't have helped herself though. She didn't want Harley to care about her so much. She welcomed the initial friendliness at first but the closer they got and the more Ivy shared...the weaker she felt.

_I can't depend on anyone. I have to stay focused._

Harley thought back. She recalled the smile playing on her lips, the sense of victory in the kill. Sometimes it was cheerful and other times casual but never as cold and unfeeling as Ivy's kills were but that was because Harley did feel something when she killed...she felt joy.

Harley knew that killing people was wrong. She knew somewhere in her heart that she still had empathy and sympathy for a human life but the taking of life was too...interesting to ignore. She knew she liked it. She liked watching life fade out from the iris. She liked the smell of blood. She loved that split second moment right on the verge between life and death where her victim's eyes seemed to say, "why?"

_Because I can._

But without the immeadiate thrill at hand and upon reflection, all Harley felt was shame.

"You're-" Harley chocked back her tears. She was monster after all just like her beloved Mr. J, "-you're so mean."

They were simple words but it was the tone and that was all that was needed to make Ivy feel bad. What had she done? Harley was just a woman and one that had suffered in an abusive relationship that Ivy never wished to know the extent of. Sure, Ivy had been physically abused and had more than her share of mental and emotion torment but Harley's pain was something else altogether.

"I feel like I've been crafted," Harley had confessed one night after seeing an old photo of the Joker in the newspaper, "In the beginning, he used to tell me things on purpose, word them just so and it only got worse after I changed into Harley Quinn."

Harley's eyes had been down cast and Ivy just listened, knowing Harley's pain and yet not knowing.

"He would take a couple of the boys and we'd all go outside and he'd teach me how to kill 'em. He'd show me how to kill quickly and how to kill slowly and you know what? I know I should feel bad and I say that I do but, Red, I don't think I do. I think I'm just sad because I'm not sad and I know what that makes me."

Ivy had said nothing in reply but instead opted to get up, prepare a meal in silence, and sit down across from Harley as they'd eaten. Harley looked at her.

"Aren't you scared, Red?" she'd asked quietly mid meal.

Ivy said nothing but shook her head and that one gesture had seemed to make all the difference in the world the same way Ivy's one sentence made all the difference now.

Harley turned around quickly and ran outside. She had no business being with this woman. This woman who coddled plants and suddenly acted cold. This terrible woman who killed for business and not for pleasure. That's all Harley was too, wasn't she? Business. They were never really friends.

_How could I have friends anyway? I'm just a psychopath. I should just go back to Mr. J where I belong._

The apartment was silent as Ivy stood alone, holding her plant to her chest. She would not break. She would not feel sorry. She would tend to what was important and let the pretty, perky blonde do what she pleased. She had to. If she didn't make her leave now, Ivy might get too attached and nothing would rival her mission not even Harley. And yet Ivy still stared at the door long after Harley had left.

Meanwhile, back Wayne Manor things were as quiet as ever. Bruce and Jack were sitting in the bed together watching the news something they both knew they shouldn't be watching, though for different reasons.

Bruce couldn't stop his detective mind. He had to keep informed. He _needed_ to know what was going on in the world. He knew that for the time being he couldn't do anything about it but the least he could was keep in touch for when...if he became Batman again.

Jack held tight to the bed sheets as the news returned from a commercial break. The news made Jack feel...uncomfortable. No, not uncomfortable. It made him feel sick.

It started off relatively small. His hands would just shake a bit when the news would pop up and talk about this robbery or that assault. Jack just shrugged it off as best as he could. After all, he had to ignore his own violent memories all the time. Why wouldn't a little fresh violence and crime make him feel a bit off?

The shaking grew worse though and the triggers grew broader. His fingers and palms would tremble and he could feel the sweat making his hands clammy. It happened at the slightest word of violent activity. His heart raced and he could almost feel the Joker inside of him trying to escape through the jitters and sweat, mercilessly racking Jack's body all the while.

Jack did everything he could to hide it from Bruce and so far it worked. Bruce still noticed the odd behaviour but Jack allowed him to believe it to be withdrawals from a drug. Little did he know that it wasn't Jack suffering withdrawals but that it was the Joker. He craved freedom...and mayhem...and he wouldn't let Jack forget it.

"It seems with the disappearance of Batman, normal crime has hit a spike in activity," the news anchor man reported, "but more curiously, Joker's criminal activity has gone down. Which begs quite a few questions: Are Batman and Joker linked in some sort of symbiotic relationship? Is it romantic in nature or a rivalry? And more importantly, now that the status quo has been reinstated, is Gotham better off without the both of them?"

Bruce leaned into towards the screen. The last question was something worthy of consideration. Not that Bruce hadn't thought about it before it was just that he'd never heard anyone else question it.

Bruce knew that Batman was responsible for Joker (it was undeniable) but did the people prefer to be victim to the daily torment of thugs and gangs or was it worse to have a madman on the loose whose only goal was to see Gotham burn people and all?

Hundreds dead in a year or a hundred dead in a day? Which was worse? A city corrupted or a city burned to the ground?

"With me today, to hopefully share some insight, is none other than Commissioner Gordon."

"Gordon?" Bruce said, surprised.

Jack watched Bruce intently. Already, the jitters were coming. It started in the fingertips. It was a slow process but maybe if Jack focused on Bruce and not the screen then maybe he could stop what felt like the inevitable.

"So, Commissioner Gordon," the anchor man began as screen split and Gordon was displayed on the right, "can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Ryder," Gordon assured him.

Gordon stood there straight faced as always. Bruce was visibly surprised at Gordon's presence. Jack watched Bruce with the upmost determination. He studied the small shift in the corner of Bruce's eyes, opening to see if what was on the screen was really happening.

_He agreed to an interview with Jack Ryder? Is he crazy?_ Bruce thought, his face sinking back into the usual expression of detective like scrutiny.

"Tell me first, Gordon," anchorman Jack Ryder asked, "what prompted you to speak to us so directly today? It's very unlike you."

Gordon coughed to clear his throat. He was uncomfortable on camera not that anyone other than Bruce could tell.

"Gotham needs to know that the police are still cracking down on crime and will continue to keep Gotham and its citizens safe."

"That's very reassuring, Gordon, but the people are more interested in your pursuit of Batman. Considering his recent disappearance, is the chase still ongoing?"

Jack Ryder, the anchorman, was known for his grueling questions. He would set up verbal traps that people could never escape. He could make a nun look guilty of murder and Gordon was willingly speaking to him. He must have been desperate to give some sort of answer.

_Which means Gotham is desperate for answers._

Jack watched as Bruce's hands formed light fists. His eyebrows narrowed together. He almost seemed determined. The words of the television seemed to fade more and more as Jack focused on Bruce. He watched every muscle and every line of the other man. Bruce was so beautifully determined, so stoney and yet so dark and beautiful. The jitters began to stop.

"Stay strong, Gordon," Bruce said quietly, too preoccupied with the television to notice Jack.

"We will always be on the hunt for criminals including vigilantes. Gotham police are-"

"And can you give us any theory on whether or not Joker and Batman's disappearance are linked?"

"I'm sure that the two are unrelated-"

"Could it be that the suspected lovers have drawn away from the public eye after their kiss caught on tape?"

"Ryder! You agreed not to-"

"Let's roll the clip for our viewers just one last time then! Refresh their memories!"

Jack watched as Bruce's mouth parted ever so slightly. His eyes opened up well beyond any standard they'd set before. His chest heaved up and down and his fists unclenched. Blood rushed to Bruce's pale face.

Jack couldn't help himself. He'd forgotten what he was trying to avoid, so enraptured by his lover. He couldn't imagine what had caused such a reaction. He turned towards the TV screen, the audio fading in as he turned.

_In helicopter lights-_

_No- _Jack thought as his palms began to shake.

_-a jester and his knight._

_I am in control. I am in control. _Jack fought as the shaking spread from his hands and up to his arms.

Bruce's eyes were glued to the television set. He'd never seen the footage of his first kiss with Joker before and now here it was in high definition and spread out across a big screen. It looked so violent. As if they were trying to eat each other, to mesh and consume one another. Bruce could feel his shame rise again. He'd desecrated his mask long before Batman and Joker had slept with each other. It began there under those blaring white spotlights for the world to see.

_Everything burns! I want the bat! You wanna know how I got these scars? _

_Got to fight- _Jack couldn't breathe and now all of him was convulsing. He couldn't focus on anything except the voice in his head. It was overwhelming, lines and quotes from another life lapping over each other as horrendous scenes flashed through his mind. Blood, fire, knives and guns and more fire.

_I'm human. Maybe even more than you are anybody else. I'm human. I'm human. I'm human. Even more than you. More than you. _

The outside world was dead to Jack as his body convulsed and tensed. He fell over onto the bed. He was doomed. He was trapped. No, he was breached. Joker would take over if he didn't fight him. He had to fight him.

Bruce had noticed Jack's movement long before Jack fell onto the bed. Bruce had turned to him, questioning what was wrong and alarmed by Jack's odd behavior but Jack didn't respond. Jack was having trouble breathing and his body was shaking. He face was turning blue.

Jack was having a seizure.

"Jack!" Bruce called out to him in panic.

Jack didn't respond to him and he began flailing as if he was possessed. His arm came across and Jack hit himself in the face with a loud smack. Bruce grabbed Jacks arms and pinned them down gently.

"Jack! Jack can you hear me!" Bruce yelled as he restrained him.

Jack eyes were off to the left, his jaw locked and spit spilling out of the corner of his scarred mouth. The blue veins in his neck were popping out of his flesh like an angry river flooding the banks of his red skin.

Bruce tried to stay clam. He knew what this was and he knew how to approach it. Jack was having a seizure from some withdrawal or another. What was the drug? Meth? Cocaine? Just heavy alcohol abuse?

_But he doesn't have any other symptoms of being a user..._

Jack's flailing had calmed somewhat and Bruce released his grip. He went around Jack, put Jack's head on his knee and attempted to steady him. He just had to wait it out. It'd be over soon. Bruce looked down at Jack as he writhed in pain.

_What's happening to you?_

_Got to fight. Got to fight. Fight. Fight._

_Madness, as you know, is like gravity-_

_Fight. Fi-_

_-all it takes is a little-_

_-fight!_

_-a little-_

_-FIGHT!_

Jack's seizing slowed. His mouth opened and closed almost like a fish out of water. His body sucked in air in harsh breaths. His eyes had come to a close. The worst was over. Joker was gone.

Bruce held Jack head's steady as he started to come down. He petted the dark brown curls gently as he mumbled to him. Bruce wasn't even sure what he was saying too grateful that the seizure was reaching its end.

Jack's eyes opened suddenly and he began to get up.

"No, no! Lay down, Jack." Bruce tried to convince him, putting a strong arm against his shoulder.

The way Jack moved was as if his head was too heavy for his body. He wobbled, unsure of gravity and balance. It wasn't quite over yet. Jack was pushing away Bruce as he struggled to get upright.

_Have to go. Got to leave. Save Bruce. Got to go._ _Now. Now!_

Bruce took a hold of Jack by the shoulders. He fought the restraint but not by much and Bruce easily pulled him back to the bed. Bruce sat with his back against the headboard of the bed. He pulled Jack close to him, bending his knees so he could restrain him gently with his own crossed legs. Jack's head lolled to the side and he inadverdently was gazing at Bruce. Bruce looked back at Jack's eyes.

_Help me._ Jack thought as he looked at Bruce. _Please. Help me._

Bruce kissed Jack on the forehead and then pulled the other man closer to his chest. He held him there, patting his head and holding him close.

"It's going to be okay," Bruce said, "you hear me, Jack? You're going to be all right now. It's okay. I'm here."

_I'm dying._ Jack thought. _My God, I'm dying._

Gordon and Ryder continued to argue with each other on the TV. The rest of Gotham continued to be Gotham. The world kept spinning but Jack was at a standstill. The dormant demon- no, the dormant man that owned the body Jack was using was coming back. Jack couldn't avoid it any longer. He couldn't win another fight like the one he just had. He wouldn't survive another one.

How the days he'd spent there had been so peaceful, being able to wake up to his soul mate every day without the threat of good and evil, without the masks and the makeup. Just two people side by side as the world would have them be. It wasn't as grand or as epic as Batman and Joker. It wasn't as tense and dangerous. It never could be but it was functional. Jack loved Bruce and he only loved Bruce. It was all he could have asked for in a world and in a life where the body he had was intended for nothing but destruction.

But paradise was never intended for man and Jack's days were numbered. When would another attack like this happen? Did he have any hope of conquering Joker a second time? Joker didn't even consciously fight for the body. He just absently attempted to take over, his big and overwhelming personality pushing Jack to the side.

Then again, it wasn't a game of personalities, was it? Jack knew why he existed and no amount of Bruce's love could change that. Oh, it was enough to pretend on but it wasn't enough to change reality.

Jack wasn't real. He was a band aid, an alter ego. Joker may have been the one wearing the makeup but Jack was the real disguise.

_A disguise._ Jack realized, his mind flashing to the past.

Joker had just escaped from Arkham and in order to walk the streets unnoticed had taken the garb of a homeless man. He'd already washed off the paint and even if he hadn't, no one would notice in the dark.

Of course, Joker was still human and in his haste he hadn't seen the mugger hiding around the corner. A well placed hit over the head and Joker was out. There was a state of nothingness, a black hole that Jack couldn't place and after that, there was only Jack. A fresh, blank slate inserted into Joker's brain.

_But how does that-_

_-I know I can't remember. I'm aware. But I don't think I can remember what happened so my mind gives me these...stories._

Joker's mind worked in such a way that it generated new lives for him. Of course, those lives were just passive, false memories.

-_I'm always convinced that they're the truth, even this one._

_So all I am is an identity? I'm just another story for his brain to use as a cover up. When does it all end for me? The other lives, the man who loved his wife so much that he carved his face...the boy abused by his father...the gambling drug addict...they all lasted just an hour or a day at most. They all had a time limit. So then...when do I reach mine?_

It was a moment of clarity in the calming after the storm. Jack was reaching a state of consciousness and he could tell where he was. He was cradled in Bruce's arms. He could feel and hear Bruce's gentle whispers near his ear. Jack's body felt sore but he couldn't say why. The past minute or so, or however long it had been he had no sense of time really, he'd been trapped in some cerebral hell where he pushed his imminent passing just a little longer but as far as Jack knew, he'd just had a simple attack of the shakes and some intense thinking.

"Bruce?" Jack asked, his voice coming out soft and shaky.

"It's okay," Bruce said, still holding Jack close, "You're just coming to, Jack. You had a seizure."

"...w-would you," Jack asked, "will you ever f-forget me?"

Bruce pulled Jack away enough from him so that he could look him in the eye.

"What kind of question is that?"

"If I were to die," Jack tried to clarify, his body awkward from the earlier attack, "would you forget about m-me?"

"Don't say that," Bruce said, his words coming out angrier than he'd expected, "Don't ever talk about that."

"Please!" Jack forced the word out, "I-I need to know."

Jack knew that Joker would forget him. No, Joker wasn't even aware of him. If Jack was forgotten then it was by the mind alone that he'd inhabited. No one knew Jack existed except for Jack himself and Bruce.

Jack didn't want to be forgotten. He didn't want to be reduced to nothingness. Someone had to remember him. Somebody had to have known he once lived and somebody had to care. It was the selfishness in Jack that longed for it but at the same time it was something else, the human need to leave some sort of legacy; to be remembered.

"I'd never forget you," Bruce said quietly as he pulled Jack back against his chest.

Bruce wondered if Jack felt like he was dying. Was that why he was asking these questions? Bruce didn't like to think about Jack dying. He was terrified of the idea.

_You can't die. Please don't die._ Bruce thought childishly as he stroked the side of Jack's face.

Bruce knew that all life had to come to an end. It was a lesson life had taught him over and over again but the idea of losing Jack was more than heartbreaking. He didn't want to accept that Jack had to one day die. He was too important. He was Bruce's last hope. He was all he had left.

Jack felt like smiling. He couldn't quiet manage to do so but he wanted to. So he would be remembered then. Being remembered didn't change anything. Jack's time was still as limited as it was before but at least this kept him from an afterlife of nothingness. Sure, when he was dead and gone it wouldn't matter to him if he was remembered but it mattered now. Being remembered, being cared for and loved is what made Jack real. Jack knew he didn't really exist but Bruce made him feel like he did and that was enough. It was more than enough.

"You love me," Jack said, gaining more control and putting a hand against Bruce's chest.

Jack's hand was clammy against Bruce's chest. What an odd thing to say. Not 'I love you' but 'you love me.' Bruce hadn't actually told that to Jack yet. He thought it countless times but the words never seemed to come out. Saying 'I love you' was like admitting surrender. It meant the upmost vulnerability.

"I do," Bruce confirmed, ready to surrender.

"And I love you," Jack said, "I'll always know you this way."

Bruce didn't know what that meant but that was okay. Bruce was sure he'd said lots of things in the past that Jack didn't understand. Somehow, this moment was monumental. Bruce couldn't say how but he felt it.

"You are to make love to me later," Jack commanded as he nuzzled into Bruce's chest.

Bruce laughed lightly. Even post seizure, Jack was as horny and selfish as ever. They would have to have a talk about this seizure business at some point. Bruce needed to figure out how to diagnose and medicate Jack but...it could wait. Right now, all Bruce needed to do was to hold Jack and never let him go.

"For now I can rest," Jack continued, trying to sound playful "but later I demand that you make love to me like you've never done before, like it's the last time you can ever make love to me."

_Because it will be._ Jack thought to himself as he kissed Bruce's chest.

**A/N: And there was much sadness and sorrow. I'm sorry to have cut Bruce and Jack's relationship so short but I've been notified by readers that they're more interested in Joker than Jack. Poor Brucey and Jacky-boy, I've made them so on again and off again. I feel as if I should give you all a fair warning here, things are going to get rather...depressing I suppose (as if Batsy didn't have enough sadness and angst as it is, right?) So um, yes, quite right, everyone be prepared. Leave me love... or expressions of sadness! I'm up for either really. :D**


	16. As If I Never Forgot

**A/N: Well, here's chapter sixteen but before I get into it, I just wanted to thank everyone for the reviews over the last two chapters. I really REALLY love hearing how you guys feel about the fic and it means so much to me that you're enjoying it. : ) So, I give you yet another chapter. Enjoy, because things are going to get complicated. ;D**

The last words Jack ever spoke were; "You'll see me soon enough."

It had taken a full day of discussion. Bruce and Jack went back and forth as they discussed Jack's issues. Bruce almost didn't believe Jack when he said he wanted to see a doctor about it. Bruce thought Jack hated doctors but Jack had kept smiling and saying, "Yeah, but I'd do anything for you."

Bruce knew that once he dropped Jack off near the hospital (about two blocks away and in an alley) that he might not see Jack for a while…if ever again. There was just a looming sense of departure hanging about. Bruce hated it but he was just as anxious as Jack appeared to be about getting help.

Bruce was a smart man. He was well educated and very capable but in the end Jack might have problems that Bruce couldn't fix. Bruce was in no condition to be assisting anyone's psyche. It'd become a proverbial case of the blind leading the blind. Bruce couldn't face his own demons, much less hunt down someone else's. It didn't matter how much you loved someone. Love doesn't heal all wounds. Sometimes it just makes them deeper.

It was that very concept that made Bruce feel a sudden desperation to keep Jack from leaving. They couldn't linger long in the back alley. Eventually someone would come along and recognize Bruce but Bruce still stalled as much as he could. He was more affectionate than normal.

Jack sighed deeply and contently as he enjoyed being enveloped by Bruce's arms. His arms were like two big bars that conformed to Jack's body but Jack didn't feel trapped in them. He felt safe. He could smell Bruce's cologne, strong and manly but with the slightest floral hint to it. He breathed it in for a moment. Jack's back was to Bruce's chest and Bruce's body heat felt warm and comforting. Jack put a hand on top of Bruce's. This last moment was everything to Jack. If he could manage to maintain one memory in the come and go mind that he was a part of, he wanted it to be this moment.

Sure, Jack could have chosen the memory of him and Bruce making love for the last time as his one moment. It was certainly worthy of it, but somehow this meant more. Bruce was so strangely affectionate and so very present. Jack felt like they were the only two people in the world. Jack felt safe and content, feelings that Joker didn't know. That's why Jack wanted to keep this moment. It was the embodiment of everything he'd ever existed for.

Jack wished they could stay like that forever. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Bruce, forget everything and be Jack. Jack smiled at the thought and felt his scars move with it. He lifted his hand to his mouth. He rested his fingertips on the scarred flesh of his ever present grin. His honest smile vanished. There was no staying here.

Jack turned to face Bruce. He opened his mouth, ready to say goodbye when Bruce kissed him.

"Do you love me?" Bruce asked, pulling away from their kiss.

The question was bizarrely forward. Bruce was hardly ever that honest but Bruce still couldn't shake the feeling that if he let Jack go that he'd be letting him go forever. Jack's medical issues could take a turn for the worse. A villain could target Jack's hospital…or worse…Jack might get better and decide that no sane person should have a relationship with a man who dresses (or used to dress) up like a bat.

Jack flung his body toward Bruce's. He almost knocked Bruce over with his embrace. Jack wound his arms tight around him. He wanted to be closer to him. He wanted them to be one. He knew that it was never going to work for them but for now he could pretend and even though it wasn't functional, Jack didn't love Bruce any less for it. Neither did Joker with Batman and Jack knew, somewhere deep down, Batman and Bruce felt the same.

"All of me loves all of you," Jack said as he buried his face into Bruce's shoulder.

Bruce wrapped his arms around Jack with equal force and need. Why did this feel like the last time? Why did saying goodbye always feel like the last time? Was it because Bruce knew tomorrow wasn't guaranteed? Because people could change? Because life wasn't fair? Bruce never wanted to say goodbye so why was he doing it?

_I can't make him stay…he has a right to get better. I have to let him get better._

If there was a lesson in life Bruce had learned by now, it was that when you love something you have to let it go and if it never comes back then…at least you did right by it.

Jack finally forced his arms to let go of Bruce. He kissed Bruce lightly on the lips. It felt like they're first kiss again and Jack held back as that unbearable pain shocked his body.

Bruce knew he couldn't check up on Jack easily. They weren't related or married so getting information over the phone would be impossible. Visiting him was out of the question too. The damn media would endanger too much should they catch wind of it and they would. It would be troublesome only if Bruce went back to being Batman. If Bruce stopped being Batman then what harm would it be if people knew? It wouldn't matter anymore right?

No, it would still matter. Bruce was still an influential person in the community. He'd be targeted in other ways. Bruce and Jack would be plastered over every magazine, TV screen, and internet site the world had to offer. Bruce hated every minute of media attention as he sat there giving preapproved answers and wearing that damn grin. He didn't want to put Jack through that. Not just that, but maybe Bruce didn't want to share Jack with the world. Maybe he wanted him all to himself...

...which was why letting Jack go now was killing him.

But nonetheless, Jack turned away and began taking steps. They were a little too slow to be casual. Each foot step felt to Jack like a step toward the firing squad. It was his final hour and he knew it. Death was coming. Jack was going.

Jack took in a deep breath. It wasn't just the aspect of slipping away. It was the aspect of slipping away from Bruce and everything that meant. Their small, perfect moments were coming to an end and in its place would soon be the corrupt blood and violence of the Joker and the Bat. Jack found them beautiful, yes, but also heartbreaking, especially when the two of them were so close to perfection-

_And they'll never even know._

"I love you," Bruce said suddenly.

There. There it was as plain as day; surrender. Bruce had allowed surrender to fall straight from his own lips, casual and almost cold sounding but surrender nonetheless. It was the least he could do in case-

_Just in case._

Jack smiled and looked back over his shoulder.

"You'll see me soon enough," he said before looking forward again.

Jack turned the corner. He walked a block down and into another alleyway. With each breath he began to clear his head of imminent doom. With each step he sparked a memory of his love with Bruce. They were little things; talking in front of the fireplace, watching TV together, walking on the manor grounds. Slowly, the idea of everything coming to an end wasn't so bad.

At least Jack lived for something. Hundreds of people went through life every day without anything to look back on. Jack had entire days of memories he held dear. And sure, they were small memories, almost normal memories, but that's what made them so special. This body, this being that he was, had never nor will ever again experience love like that. Joker would never be with his soul mate the way Jack had been with his. So this life, temporary as it was, had meant something in the end.

_So I really was something after all, huh?_ Jack mused as he leaned against the brick wall of the alley.

Jack pulled out a carefully concealed makeup pallet from his jacket. He eyed the small mirror on the cheap pallet with resignation. At least this way he'd be ready for it. It wasn't committing suicide really. It was more like Jack's last breath, that purposeful, calculated last piece of air that the dying take in and then release with their soul attached to it.

_And all things_, Jack thought as he began to smear white foundation onto his skin, _come to an end._

Bruce didn't want to get back into the car. Every last ounce of him screamed to go after Jack. Screw the media. Screw Wayne Enterprises. Screw Batman! Bruce loved Jack. He loved him so much he would let him go but he didn't want to. And was it so wrong for Bruce to want to be selfish? Just once? Hadn't he given everything to what the world wanted and needed? He acted and portrayed billionaire Bruce Wayne for thousands across the globe and by night, he donned the cowl and cut off every emotional string he could manage just to make the streets safer. Even with Rachel, even though he argued and fought, ultimately he would have let her be with Harvey if that's what she wanted.

What was so wrong with Bruce going after one thing? Just once? For no other big, dramatic reason than his love?

_Nothing._

Bruce took off out of the alleyway but once he stepped out, he couldn't see Jack anywhere. He went down a block, searching through the crowd for him.

"Batman!" a voice cried.

Bruce instinctually ducked into the nearest alleyway. He berated himself as he put his back to the cold, brick wall. He listened carefully though, too proud to leave his hiding place.

"You mean you actually want that creep back on the streets!" a loud, gruff, male voice exclaimed.

Bruce peered around the corner.

_Hot dog vendor. Overweight. Unattractive. Of course._

The vendor was talking with a pretty Asian woman, whose petite build made her look far younger than her years. However, Bruce knew better. She was wearing a wedding ring and dressed for the work place. She looked somewhat familiar too though Bruce couldn't say why.

"He is not a creep!" she reprimanded, her voice surprisingly mature for her stature.

"Sure he is, I mean, did you see that- _that_ kiss?" the vendor then proceeded to reenact said kiss with a mimed partner.

"Stop that!" the woman smacked his hand, "I don't care what the media says, I know how Batman really is."

"Oh do you?" the hotdog seller said sarcastically.

The woman nodded, her dark brown ponytail doing a little bounce.

"As a matter a fact I do," she replied.

Bruce leaned in a little more.

"And what is he then, huh? This Batman of yours?"

The woman narrowed her eyes and poked the vendor in the chest.

"He's a hero," she said.

Bruce's eyes widened. His breathing increased at the very word.

_A hero?_

"A hero!" the vendor exclaimed with a laugh, "Yeah, well tell me this, what kind of _hero_ goes out macking on super villains?"

"It was made perfectly clear that the kiss was a forced situation. Everyone knows that Joker had a detonator in his mouth!"

_They do?_ Bruce wondered. After all he had purposefully ignored media coverage of the act so he wouldn't know what details were revealed.

"And even if it wasn't," she continued, her voice settling and serious, "he's still a hero and he always will be."

The woman looked downward, her bangs falling into her face and obscuring her eyes. The vendor leaned closer towards her, over his cart. Bruce was on the edge as he waited for one of them to say something, anything.

"I don't care if Batman and Joker have some sort of affair going on. What does that matter? You honestly think it's that strange for two rivals to have sexual, even emotional undertones?"

"Well it-"

"I married my rival."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the vendor asked as he helped himself to one of his own hotdogs.

"My husband and I were the two top sellers in our department. We _hated_ each other. We fought tooth and nail ever since I can remember and then one night, something...shifted and we've never been the same since."

The vendor grunted a little and wiped at his nose.

"That's not really the same thing, sweetie."

"So it's on a grander scale so what? And if you ask me, the back drop of explosions is a little more romantic than an office coffee machine."

So it wasn't so strange after all. Batman and Joker weren't as freakish and taboo as Bruce thought, at least, according to this woman anyway.

"Besides, Batman saved me once."

The vendor was surprised at this as was Bruce. Bruce turned completely out of the alley to get a better look at the woman and sure enough, he recognized her.

_She's grown her hair out since then. It's nice._

"And when he saved me it was from some muggers not Joker. Joker didn't even exist then. You have to remember, Batman existed before Joker. He's stood for something longer than Joker has and Batman will keep standing for something and as long as that man fights crime I won't be afraid anymore."

The woman took a bite from her hotdog before putting a hand on her hip and glaring down the vendor.

"So don't you ever say something like that about Batman. That man is a hero, you got it?"

Bruce smiled. Even if he sometimes felt like nothing but a man with mental issues dressed like a bat, other people saw something in him. It was true; he couldn't cut off all human emotions and just be a force. He was still human. He was still Bruce under it all but that didn't mean he didn't stand for something. This city knew Batman as a symbol even when the police hunted after him and the Joker lighted him poorly. Batman _was_ something bigger than Bruce after all.

Bruce knew that he could never really give up being Batman. It was a part of him and it called to him all the time. Bruce knew he loved Jack but Bruce couldn't lie to himself. Bruce was Batman and Batman was Bruce. If Jack couldn't accept that when he returned then-

_Then I'll deal with it then but for now..._

Bruce straightened his tie, still smiling.

_I'm back, Gotham._

With that thought Bruce stepped forward and as he did he heard a crunching sound. He looked down and moved his foot back to see that he'd step on what looked like the mirror of child's face paint pallet but the thought was quickly forgotten as the sound of ambulance sirens screeched by. Bruce made a quick walk back to his car and as the key turned in the ignition and the engine roared, Bruce felt a sense of hope again for himself and for Gotham.

Meanwhile, Harley was waiting. She'd been waiting for some time now and was getting rather impatient. Joker had taken a completely inconvenient (for Harley anyway) vacation from the hideaway and in his absence the place had gone to shit. So, Harley had to bring a little order to the place and considering she was still upset from her fight with Ivy, the order brought was a little more violent than normal.

However, now that the lackies and henchmen were back in their places, Harley had little to do but wait and wait she did. No one seemed to know where Joker was. The guys claimed he'd been gone for days and had left without notice of any kind. They said it wasn't the first time either but that Joker did come back so Harley had hope that Joker hadn't abandoned everything.

Harley decided to wait in Joker's room. She knew her beloved Mr. J would pitch a fit if he caught her in there alone and without his permission but what Mr. J didn't know wouldn't hurt him... or her for that matter. Harley lied on Joker's bed, sprawled out with her legs and arms taking up every available space of dirty sheet and busted bed frame. She laid face down, breathing in Joker's scent which was bitter and dirty at its base but fringed with little wisps of gasoline and smoke. She wanted to roll herself up in the thin sheet and just soak in his scent but she knew she was pushing it already by just lying there.

"Oh, Mr. J," she said aloud, muffled by the pillow, "where are you?"

He could be anywhere. He could be out setting up the early stages of his next grand scheme or he could be gaining new recruits for his chaotic army or...

Harley's head popped up from the bed with excitement.

"Maybe Mr. J's out looking for me!" she thought enthusiastically, "Wouldn't that just be so romantic?"

She grabbed the Joker's dusty, lumpy excuse for a pillow and squeezed it tight in her arms as she stood up from the bed and danced around the room.

"Mr. J out there in Gotham's streets looking for me after our little spat and me waiting patiently for him here. He'll eventually get tired and feel defeated just like I've been feeling abandoned and impatient. Then he'll come home and here I'll be just waiting for him with open arms!"

She squealed with delight as she plopped back onto the bed, sitting up and clinging to the pillow lovingly.

"But...what if he's not looking for me?" Harley wondered, her grip loosening on the pillow.

The pillow landed in her lap almost apologetically. A few seconds ago, it was her pseudo Mr. J in a loving embrace and dance and now it had transformed back into the dingy little pillow it was before. She looked at it as tears welled up in her eyes.

"Why would he want to look for me?" she said to the pillow, her voice small and cracking, "When he wanted to kill me?" she finished angrily before throwing the pillow across the room.

There was no pretending that Joker hadn't put a gun to her head and shot it. There was no getting past the fact that he laughed and mocked her, abused her and even put the gun in her hands and told her to do it herself. There was no denying that he'd made her into a monster either.

_If it hadn't been for Red..._

Harley felt a pain in her chest as she thought of Ivy. Harley had really begun to feel like she and Ivy were friends. It was a nice feeling; being able to come home to somebody, being able to talk and share parts of herself that she hadn't shared before. Not to mention that it was fulfilling in a way to finally experience female companionship.

Harley stood up and picked up the pillow gently.

_Hell, it was nice to have a friend period._

But they weren't friends. Not really. Ivy only cared about her plants and her cause. Harley was probably just a means to learn the tricks of the trade and now that Ivy felt comfortable, she could just throw her away.

"Y'know, between you and Ivy," Harley spoke to the pillow, pretending once again that she was speaking to Joker, "I'm starting to feel like nobody's ever going to love me and that the ones who do are just pretending."

"Now why would anyone ever pretend to love?" Joker's voice said.

Harley yelped and dropped the pillow. She turned toward the doorframe and saw Joker standing there, his face painted fresh but oddly dressed in average street clothes.

"Granted, what is love but pretending?" Joker pondered.

"I- I guess," Harley said, not sure of what else to say, before quickly picking up the pillow and placing it on the bed.

Harley awkwardly fussed with the bed putting false effort into fixing it and more just tossing the sheet around.

"It's good to see you, Harley," Joker said.

It was just another case of Joker being Joker. He didn't quite recall his point of annoyance where he pulled a gun on Harley but then time was sure to fix that when Harley became too much of a nuisance again. Until then she was back in his good graces because to Joker, it literally appeared to never have happened.

Harley on the other hand, took it as Joker trying to mend things but to be sure-

"So, you're not mad at me being in your room?" Harley asked shyly.

Joker smiled and the gesture sent Harley into the biggest and brightest grin she had to offer.

"I left the door open when I left didn't I? If I were you I would have gone in and it wouldn't be very fair for me to be angry at you for something I'd do now would it?"

Harley felt like gushing. She'd never wanted to pour out her love onto the clown criminal so badly. She took a step towards Joker with the intent of embracing him and covering him in kisses but she quickly restrained her reaction.

_Egg shells, Harles, you gotta walk on egg shells for a bit first._

Harley knew that Joker was temperamental and his forgiveness at the moment could easily be turned around. Harley was just grateful that Joker had forgiven her at all. Although...what she did wrong in the first place escaped her.

_Nonetheless, he loves me again!_ She cheered on the inside.

Joker went to his shabby closet and picked up one of his custom suits. Sure, the suits were a great deal of trouble to have come by, especially in duplicates, but then Joker didn't really mind. He'd forced a tailor to make them, just saw the custom made suits in the window and thought "I want" and the next thing he knew, he'd taken the tailor and fancy little specials boutique hostage for a month. He loved it, the purples and greens, which was strangely abundant in the flamboyant little store. It was worth the wait to have a clothing, forced from another's hand and truly forged out of blood sweat and tears. Putting it on was like slipping into Joker's real body. It was a part of Joker. It was a marker of his identity the way some people had freckles or moles. The purple and green, the cut of the jacket, it was all a part of Joker.

Joker didn't think twice as he stripped himself of the strange apparel he was wearing (much to Harley's delight). Joker was completely accustomed to having holes in his memories. In fact, a lot of his plans begun as a simple spark in his mind then he'd blink and the next think he knew he was surrounded by dead bodies and money. It was a shame at times though. Joker liked to look back on a fulfilled plan but he was used to the come and go of it all. It was part of the fun really, to see what treasured moments he was given at the end.

And speaking of plans…

"Harley," Joker smiled, looking over his shoulder, his shirt half unbuttoned, "How do you feel about kidnapping?"

Later that day, Ivy was sitting in her apartment fresh out of a shower and watching the late evening news. It had taken hours to scrub off the smell of sewer. Still, the stench was well earned that day.

_Because I am officially an eco-terrorist,_ Ivy thought with pride as she ran her towel through her fiery locks one last time. She was waiting for the news coverage but of course, the station was withholding the story for last in hopes of making their audience sit through the entire program.

Ivy almost felt like celebrating. In fact, she did feel like celebrating. She rose from the small couch and scoured the kitchen for alcohol. Not that Ivy was much for drinking. She could enjoy a nice wine from time to time but boozing it up really didn't suit her alone or not.

Finally, she encountered a bottle of champagne poorly hiding in the bottom cabinet behind a large pot. She took out the bottle feeling a sense of quiet excitement. She was more thrilled than she'd ever been before. Promotions were squat compared to this.

As she set the bottle down though, she realized there was a note attached to the bottle. She pulled the taped note off curiously and it read:

_Dear Red,_

_If you've been snooping around the kitchen and found this little bottle of bubbly then DON'T DRINK IT._

_I'm saving it for us. Y'know for celebrating or a rainy day. But I guess if you really need it right now then you'd better go find me and don't you drink a drop until you do, all right? :)_

_Love,_

_Harley_

Ivy put the note on the table. She knew that she ought to just get a glass, pour herself some champagne and throw the note away in the trash but her body denied her. Instead, she stuck the note right back onto the bottle and placed the bottle exactly where she'd found it.

She took a seat at the table and stared at the cabinet that concealed the champagne. She sighed and decided that champagne was overrated anyway.

Meanwhile, Bruce had finally ventured down into the Batcave after what felt like an eternity. The dank smell and the blue tinted light calmed him and even from a distance, he could see his batsuit in its case. It called to him and he felt like a moth to a flame.

Still, there was a sense of hesitation. After all, while he did have proof that he had managed to become a symbol, he wasn't so sure he could live up to being that symbol anymore. He'd let his personal feelings display themselves. He knew that he was fatally mortal.

_As long as that man fights crime I won't be afraid anymore._ Batman recalled the woman saying.

_That's what matters then: Fighting crime._

Bruce continued to take steps closer and closer to the attire of his alter ego. He could sense his own fear and anticipation. So Batman was played by Bruce and Bruce was human. Bruce would make mistakes and care about people. He was a human being in the end but that didn't mean that Batman was nothing. Batman inspired people. Batman meant something to _Gotham_ and really that had been the intention all along. Batman was never meant to be Bruce's saving hero; Batman belonged to and had always belonged to the city.

Bruce stripped out of his clothes and relished in the feel of the batsuit. Every piece of rubber armor felt like slipping into a cold embrace. It felt like donning the night. Bruce could feel himself becoming terror and justice. He could feel himself become Batman.

But Bruce stopped at the suit. He didn't bother with the cowl or the gloves. He just wanted a few days to feel the suit against his skin. While he had his faith restored, he wasn't just ready yet to go out into Gotham again. He wanted to take things slow and make everything deliberate. Otherwise he might lose himself again.

So for now, it was just the batsuit and boots under his clothes. Bruce pulled back on his pants and buttoned up his shirt to conceal the batsuit. His clothes felt a little tighter and it was certainly hotter but it was nice to get used to being the bat again, in his own way and at his own pace. Maybe by doing things slowly, he could regulate the balance.

_Once step at a time_, Bruce thought as he longingly looked at the cowl and then looked away. He began to retreat back to the mansion. _One step at a time._

Ivy still stared at the cabinet. Her eyes were transfixed on it despite the brain nagging her to pull away. Either she needed to just forget the champagne entirely or just get up and poor a glass. Instead Ivy was at a standstill. She couldn't move on but she couldn't just out right defy Harley either. Although why that was she couldn't say.

It wasn't until Ivy heard her name on the news that she managed to look away. Even then, her body was still very much glued to the chair. She watched as the TV anchorman, Jack Ryder, began to cover her story.

Ivy was rather proud of her accomplishment. She'd gone down to the oil company's main headquarters. The company secretly dumped thousands of gallons of waste material in a natural body of water and as a result the entire ecosystem was being destroyed. The company owned the land but as far as Ivy was concerned no one really owned any land. The land belonged to herself.

So Ivy snuck poison into the air system and watched as they all choked to death. Again, it wasn't a pleasure that she felt. It was just the icy cold indifference of satisfying justice. She left a note on the CEO's body:

_When you try to strangle Mother Earth to death she strangles back and she succeeds._

She even signed the note as Poison Ivy. She finally felt like a true agent of her cause, swiftly and efficiently getting out the message: back off of Mother Earth.

"The death count reached up into the hundreds and the few who did escape are currently being hospitalized. In addition-"

"Hospitalized! Well that's not very thorough is it?" Joker's voice claimed as he lumbered into the set.

Ivy immediately stood up and nearly tripped over herself on her way to the TV. She was glued to it now.

"You'll have to forgive her, Mr. J," Harley's voice added as hopped up onto the news desk, "she's still a rookie."

Ivy's mouth dropped a little as she watched Harley on the screen. Ivy had told herself that she didn't care that Harley left. She told herself that it wasn't important to her where Harley went or what she did. She was convinced that it was no matter of concern to her whether Harley went back to Joker or not but as she sat there, looking at Harley, it began to matter.

"Hey ya handsome," Harley grinned as she invaded Ryder's personal space.

Joker looked at Harley with disdain. He grabbed her forcibly by the arm and threw her off of the desk. Ivy stood to her feet as she heard Harley smack onto the floor.

_No!_ Ivy thought.

Joker looked down at her for a moment before kicking Harley hard in the stomach.

"I told you, this is between me and the bat," Joker said as he pushed his greasy locks out of his face.

"Bastard!" Ivy shouted at the TV.

Joker reached down and picked Harley up by the arm. Harley looked like a rag doll in his grip as she tried to stand on her feet. She cradled her stomach. Joker used his free arm to grab her by the hair and he pushed her closer to the camera.

"But since you've already interrupted, why don't you tell Batman what we've got for him?"

Harley had tears in her eyes and she was trying hard to control her whimpers. She tried to speak but the pain from the kick made words difficult.

Ivy was on her knees in front of the TV. She put a hand on the screen and looked at Harley, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You idiot, what are you doing to yourself?" Ivy asked.

Harley coughed and with the cough came blood. Joker rolled his eyes and dropped her. When she hit the floor again, Harley let out a cry of pure anguish and Ivy let out all the feelings she'd been denying. Her loneliness, her sadness and most of all her regret. She couldn't just stand there and watch her friend get hurt and that's what Harley was whether Ivy wanted to admit it fully or not. She was Ivy's friend.

Ivy quickly grabbed her car keys. She didn't bother to turn off the TV or lights. She didn't even lock the door behind her. She just took off out of the apartment.

Still though, the TV blared and Joker went right ahead talking.

"Let's just say that you'd better come find me Batsy, or a certain handsome big billionaire is going to," Joker licked his lips, "find himself severely _cut_ down to size."

**A/N: I hate to inform you guys of this but I will be moving by the end of this week, which means I won't have as much access to the internet as I like. That being said, the chapters might take longer to get up. This story is almost finished though, there's only four chapters left. The next one I'm almost finished with and hopefully I can get it edited and out by next weekend.**

**On a side note, I do want to say that times have been a little tough on me lately. I'd rather not get into it but I am doing a lot better than I have been and I honestly believe that the worst is over. I know I've never really been the type to share anything personal here but now that I'm starting to go up again, I'd really rather not come crashing down, so if you pray, please pray for me, and if you don't, send me good vibes and thoughts of support. Really, anything will help.**

**Even voodoo rain dances.**

**I hope to get back soon and finish up this story. :)**


	17. But Everything is Ending

**A/N: Let's start the countdown! FOUR! :D**

There was something interesting about watching someone slip into conciousness. Joker had seen plenty of people slip out of it. Watching someone get knocked out or someone passing out felt uneventful. It was like watching them die in a way only without the permanence of real death. They were still breathing, only their bodies had gone limp and lifeless.

But watching someone return to the conscious world was something else all together. It was a sudden stirring in a moment of dead weight and lifelessness. Another human being's body slowly began to move and awaken. It was like watching someone come back to life. Not that Joker would ever admit that he found interest in life. He'd play the devil's advocate to his dying day but as he watched the lids of sleeping eyes slowly open and give way to icy blues, he couldn't help but see why someone could value the beauty of the living.

"Well good morning, sunshine," Joker said with a smile as he stared into his captee's face only a few centimeters away from being nose to nose.

Bruce blinked hard as he tried to get the world to focus. Everything was blurry and a little tilted. He felt heavy like he was stuck. He went to rub at a sore spot on his head but his arms were bound behind him. In front of him was Joker's face, freshly painted and smiling that demonic and satisfied grin of his.

"Joker?" Bruce asked, unsure as his mind adjusted to reality.

It wasn't uncommon for Bruce to dream about these kind of situations but as he focused, he quickly realized that this was no dream. It was real and Joker had him, tied up and to a chair. He'd been taken prisoner.

Bruce was just about to switch into Batman mode when Joker turned his back on him and paced towards a table.

"So tell me, you ever think you'd end up in a madman's lair? If I were you I'd be excited. I mean, how often do normal people, let alone the rich and sheltered, get the opportunity to experience a little...chaos?"

Bruce wasn't quite sure what Joker was getting at. _Rich and sheltered? What is he talking about?_

"I'll start with something easy first, maybe work my way up from general pain to scars? I think you'd look nice with a few scars, Bruce, it'll give you some character."

There was a sudden panic in Bruce as he realized that Joker hadn't taken Batman hostage. No, Batman had nothing to do with this situation. Bruce could feel the absence of his cowl and although he was wearing the batsuit it was hidden under noraml clothing. Bruce struggled against the rope holding together his wrists. The knot wasn't impossible to get out of but it would take time. Bruce's fight against the bonds seemed hasty though and he knew he wasn't clear and level headed as he attempted to thrash about.

It was one thing to have been maskless in front of Joker at the asylum. There was a plate of glass between them then so even though Bruce was bare he could watch and be watched by Joker without the fear of them really being in each other's presence. They were still seperated but now there was nothing seperating Bruce and Joker from each other. Bruce was now tangible to Joker. Joker could just reach out and touch the face of the man he'd been fighting for so long and he didn't even know it. Meanwhile, Bruce chaffed his wrists as he began to loosen the knot, unable to touch Joker at all.

"Why did you take me?" Bruce asked with a slight grunt and as the chair legs chattered against concrete with his struggle.

The grunt in the other man's voice made Joker spin around at an abrupt turn. It sounded, familiar but it wasn't. It was an accidental groan nothing purposeful or forced. It was just the sound of pain and Joker, confused by the odd spark of familiarity he felt, walked up to Bruce and looked him in the eyes.

"It's odd but I feel like I might have known you once," Joker mused.

Bruce stared right back at Joker. Bruce took in every inch of Joker's face from the red painted lips to the black circled eyes to grungy green locks that fell right by pasty scars. It had felt like a lifetime since he'd stared into those colors. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bruce knew he should be avoiding the Joker's gaze for fear of him recognizing him. Bruce hadn't had this concern before when meeting the Joker as Bruce because they were further apart but the position they were in now was so close and so intimate and Joker had even stated that he felt that Bruce was familiar. Still, it was the closeness and intimacy that made Bruce look at Joker, angrily and longing, almost as if he wanted to be recognized.

Bruce glanced down at Joker's hands which were poised on the knees for support as Joker stared at him. He wanted those hands to reach up to him. He wanted them to touch his face in that mocking and affectionate way. He wanted to hit Joker, pin him down, press his lips harsh against the other man's and force his way back to that raw, burning emotion. His body ached for the Joker begging for the taste of violence and sex.

_You do know me._ Bruce thought, trying everything not to say it out loud.

The way Bruce looked at Joker surprised the clown prince. There wasn't an ounce of fear or foggy confusion or hate in those eyes. There was a determination in them. It was an unbridled amount of strong emotion coupled with...darkness? Yes, darkness. Joker could almost point out the black void, in was in the dark flecks in Bruce's eyes. They seemed to call to Joker, screaming harsh whispers for his attention.

"Or maybe I'll just start with your eyes," Joker said, still entranced by them.

Joker's hand slowly approached Bruce's face and Bruce almost felt himself lean into the touch. Joker cupped Bruce's face and ran his thumb under Bruce's eye. Bruce could turn and bite the palm of that dirty hand. He could bite hard and harsh and draw blood from him if he really wanted to and then he could drink it in and kiss the wound. His lips pleaded with him to do it, the salt of Joker's grime tickling at his mouth. They wanted Bruce to become Batman. Bruce wanted to become Batman. He wanted to do anything except stand this torture of being in his rival and love's presence without his identity.

"I'll goug them out and put them in my pocket. They're so _expressive. _Beautiful..."

Bruce felt his mouth pull into a sneer. He knew why Joker found his eyes beautiful. He wasn't even distrubed that Joker wanted to take them out of his skull. It was Joker's own fucked up way of saying he liked them, that he wanted them. It was the fact that Joker didn't know, couldn't recognize why he wanted Bruce's blues that created a hot and burning ball in Bruce's stomach.

"It's me," Bruce said suddenly, angry and quitely as if the white hot ball of hate was hissing out of him, "don't you know who I am?"

Joker felt a rush of quiet panic overtake him but somehow it didn't connect with him on a conscious level. Joker just laughed, the laugh coming out nervous and airy. As he laughed though, he stopped touching Bruce and grabbed his knife.

"Should I?" he asked as he put the blade to Bruce's cheek.

"Look at me," Bruce commanded, his voice hitting a lower pitch but still not hitting the Batman tone, "look me in the eyes."

"As tempting as the offer is I've got this knife in my hand and- well- it's like having an itch you need to scratch-"

"Look at me!" Bruce yelled, feeling the offence and hurt boiling up from inside of him.

How could Joker not recognize him? How? After all the fights and tension, after staring into Batman's eyes so much, how was it that Joker couldn't see him for who he was?

"You know me!" Bruce continued to shout as Joker looked at him bemused, "You know who I am! Look at me!"

Joker rolled his eyes as his tongue flicked out for a brief moment. He wasn't going to let this man, this Bruce Wayne, get to him. So what if Bruce knew who Joker might have been? Joker would just kill him before he could say anything.

"You know, begging only makes my itch so much worse," Joker said, "Are you really that afraid, Bruce?"

_No. No, it's not fear. It's hurt. This hurts. You know me, damn it. You know me!_

The cold feel of the sharp blade gently touching Bruce's cheek wasn't intimidating or terrifying. If anything it almost felt inviting. For years, Bruce only knew the feeling of being alive through fight and now the Joker stood before him, oblvious and ignorant, and the blade was close.

_So close._

Bruce pushed his face up and against the blade, forcing the sharp metal to tear open his skin. It drew a long, jagged red line from under his eye down to his chin. Bruce felt the burn of it and the dripping blood.

Joker dropped the knife. It fell to the floor with a clatter and the sound of it filled the room. He stared at the blood on Bruce's face. The sight of it, that dark crimson, on that beautiful face, that pale skin, made Joker abhorred at the knife.

_That- that hurt!_

The feeling of electrity. Hot. Sharp. Like a slap across the face.

"Why did you do that?" Joker asked, his voice tailed with nervous laughter.

"Taste it," Bruce commanded, his voice just barely hinting against the growl of the bat.

But Joker wasn't concerned with the gravel of the other man's voice. He just kept staring at his face and the blood tear that kept dripping under his eye. This face wasn't supposed look this way. It was- it wasn't right. It's supposed to-

_It hurts. It hurts._

Joker felt a sharp pain in his head as alien thoughts invaded. They weren't his voice and they weren't the voices he normally heard. This voice was different. It was strong and with it came images and moments and...memories.

"Stop that!" Joker shouted, "Stop talking!"

All Bruce could think was that if Joker couldn't recognize him by the eyes then at least he could recognize him by blood. He knew Joker knew the taste of it. He knew Joker knew the smell and feel and look of it. He'd spilt it so many times. At least by blood he would know.

"Hit me!" Bruce shouted, his voice now fully emersed in Batman's tone and his teeth bared, "Hit me!"

Joker brought up his hands to his head. His fingers grasped his hair in angry fists. He wanted to hit this man. He was ready to kill him only a few moments ago but the very sight of blood on his face wounded something deep in Joker.

"HIT ME!" Bruce screamed.

Joker's fist moved from his head towards Bruce. Punches and hits rained down on Bruce, hitting the face, the stomach, anywhere that Joker could get to. He punched him, kicked him, slapped him, grabbed him by the hair. Joker beat him and kept beating him.

Bruce took it. He took all of it without even so much as a grunt of pain. He just winced as Joker's fury was let loose on him. He felt like he could breath again as that hatred and violence poured out from Joker.

_It's your turn now. Take it out on _me_. Take it all out on me._

Joker gave one final harsh kick and sent Bruce over, the chair breaking on impact. Bruce was free of the chair but his wrists were still bound behind him. They were loose enough that a little more fight would free him but he didn't even care, he just laid there on the floor, surrounded by broken wood and his own pooling blood.

_We love to see each other bleed, huh? Well, I'd bleed for you. I love bleeding for you._

Joker felt sick as he looked Bruce. He didn't enjoy a single one of his hits. He couldn't even appreciate the beauty of the broken man, bruised and bloody and bound like a prisoner. He just felt the inside of his skull wanting to split into two and the pounding in his heart. Joker had to kill this man, he had to kill him now.

Joker picked up the knife from the floor, his body shaking as he neared the downed Bruce.

Bruce looked up to see Joker, more crazed than he'd ever been. His whole body shook, even the knife in his hands shook glinting the light on the blade in a wild pattern, blood splattering onto the floor. He had the look of the kill in his eyes. Bruce knew that look and he tried to take in a deep breath, prepared to bleed out everything for Joker.

_If that's what it takes. Take it all._

"You were right," Bruce coughed, "we do love to see each other bleed."

"What- what did you say?" Joker said, frozen in his tracks.

"Do you recognize me now?" Bruce asked, his voice grating and low, not from force but from pain.

_No. No it can't be. _Joker thought as his grip tightened on the knife.

"Do it," Bruce said as he spat out blood, "I don't care if this kills me anymore. Not if it's for you."

Joker fell to his knees as he screamed. The sound was almost otherwordly and it consumed his entire body. Only one singular thought ran through his head.

_My bat. My bat. My BAT!_

Bruce felt himself tear up as he watched Joker screaming.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

There was a noise, just barely audible under Joker's screams. It was the sound of a door opening and fast steps across concrete.

"Mr. J!" Harley cried.

Harley had been watching the whole time. She'd thought that this was a routine kidnap and torture. Mr. J would beat up the rich boy a little, then send in the tape to a news station and then in would swoop Batman like usual. That was the plan anway.

But Harley watched, terrified as her beloved screamed. He screamed in such a way that his body seemed stretched out from his knees upwards, as if there was too much pain for a human body to bare and it was bursting from inside of him.

Harely reached out an unsteady hand and put it on Joker's shoulder. She couldn't just watch him like this. She had to do something. She had to save him.

The touch didn't stop the screaming but it did cause Joker to move.

Joker grabbed Harley by the arm. He twisted it behind her back and broke it with inhuman quickness. He threw her down as she cried out from the pain. That wasn't enough though. Harley had grasped the attention of Joker's anguish and began to flood out on her.

Joker's beloved Bat was gone. Gone. He was never even there to begin with. Batman wasn't like him. He was a _real_ person. He was an actual human being. A normal, everday, mortal man. Joker was alone after all and his sad, demented little heart was broken.

Then, amogst the anger and hurt that Joker took out on Harley, there was a force. It was sharp insertion in the back of his neck. Like a bee sting. Right after, Joker was hit over the head with one of the broken chair legs. He stumbled over and pulled a needle out from the back of his neck.

"Mr. J!" Harley screamed out before turning her attention to Joker's attacker, "Red, what did you do?!"

Ivy stood before Harley. She looked at her with concern but that concern turned to anger as she saw the look on Harely's face.

"It's not poison," Ivy said flatly.

Harley sniffled as she watched Joker grow slightly groggy. Jokers head began to swim and the adrenaline from his emotions seemed to lower as he stumbled. Still, the foreign chemical in his system didn't make him anymore stable. His system faught it's calming effects and as he fell to his knee, he was already preparing himself to get back up and kill the little plant bitch.

"It's not?" Harley said hopefully.

"It's a very, _very_ light tranquilizer," Ivy said, "It'll just relax him-"

Harley was confused. Why was Ivy helping Joker? From all their conversations and stories, Harley thought that Ivy would hate the Joker.

"-enough for me to kill him."

**A/N: Ivy no! You stop that! You stop that right now. You just march your sexy little ass right out of here and take Harley with you! D:**


	18. Lovers, Enemies, and Friends

**A/N: Three! :D**

Harley couldn't believe Ivy at first. She couldn't be serious, right? It wasn't like Joker did anything to Ivy. Sure, he beat on Harely once in a while but Harley knew the price of loving him at this point. It cost her life, her sanity, her identity, what was a couple of bruises?

Ivy held tight to the wooden chair leg in her hands. It wasn't like her to feel angry like this. It wasn't in her nature to kill violently. She had a few syringes of poison hiding on her person, hard as that may be to believe with how revealing she was dressed. She could have easily pulled one out now and killed Joker as swift and efficiently as she always killed.

But no.

Joker had to pay. Joker had to know what it felt like to have the crazy beat out of him. Ivy wanted him concious and she wanted to beat and bloody him until even his signature scars were lost among the carnage.

Ivy ran towards Joker with all the force and ferocity her anger afforded her. Somewhere, deep inside her, she knew this wasn't just for Harely. It was for Ivy herself. It was for all the abused and broken women in the world who were manipulated by bad men. It was for those who were oppressed by their love and their lover's fists.

"Red no!" Harley shouted.

Harley ran as fast as she could. The very anger in Ivy's body was terrifying and Harley knew that Ivy was more than serious. She was absolute about killing Joker but Harley couldn't let her do that. She just couldn't kill Mr. J. She just couldn't. Harley loved him.

Harley threw herself in front of Joker, making Ivy come to a scattering halt. They eyed each other for a moment, both breathing heavy.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Harley shouted, her arms spread out as if she was trying to use her entire body to shield the madman.

Ivy paused as she looked at Harley. She wasn't going to let her through. There was no way. Ivy may have been absolutely set on killing Joker but it was clear that Harley was absolute in her protection of him.

Ivy let out an aggravated scream as she threw the chair leg to the ground.

"Why!?" Ivy shoute back, "Why do you keep defending him!?"

Harley's head tilted down and she dropped eye contact for a moment. Harley glanced over her shoulder at Joker. Behind her, he was still on his knees, collecting his swimming head. She looked back at Ivy with a weak smile.

"Because I love him, Red," Harley said quietly.

"He beats you!" Ivy shouted, "He doesn't care about you, don't you get it!?"

"Yeah, I get it!" Harley shouted back, hurt and offended, "I get that he's a bad man! I've always known that he's a bad man! But I fell for him, okay? I tried to save him but there's no saving Mr. J! When you love a crazy person you don't have any choice other than to go crazy yourself and I did!"

"But you don't have to be crazy!" Ivy said before softening her tone, "You don't have to be crazy, Harley."

Ivy took a very careful step towards Harley. It was slow and gentle and small but to Ivy it felt like the biggest step she'd ever taken.

"And I don't have to be so cold either. We don't have to things we're not anymore."

"W-what are you saying?" Harley fidgeted in her defensive stance but held it.

Ivy took another step towards her. This wasn't about Joker or Ivy's repressed anger anymore. This was so much more important now and with each small step Ivy took towards the bruised and defensive blonde, the world seemed to get clearer.

"I'm saying that I'm done with- with this," Ivy said gesturing to her costume and tugging at a leaf, "I'm saying that we don't have to do this anymore."

Harley teared up at the idea. She really didn't want to be a costumed criminal anymore. She didn't want to steal things and torture and kill people. She just wanted to be happy that was all.

"I don't know if I can stop, Red," Harley said, sounding weak and afraid.

Harley turned away from Ivy slowly and looked down to Joker. Joker was on his hands and knees now and crawling towards his beaten prisoner. That was how Joker stayed happy, through the blood and the cuts and bruises and the brokeness of his victims. Harley had wanted to save him so badly and when she couldn't, she stooped to his level and became like him just to protect him. Really though, there was nothing in this kind of life but blood and Harley didn't want blood. She only wanted to love and be loved back. That had been all she ever wanted.

"Oh, Mr. J," Harley said so softly that she could almost hear her heart breaking over it.

Joker kept pushing himself forward, feigning disability. The drug in his system had caused him to calm enough to gain consciousness of his surroundings. His only goal right now was the knife that laid nearby Bruce. Although, when he got the knife he wasn't sure who he was going to use it on first. The red head with the plant motif? That annoying little blonde that _still_ hasn't learned her lesson? Or maybe the imposter Bat?

Yes, _imposter_ Bat. There was no way that this useless, playboy, rich kid was Joker's Bat. There was no way that anyone could be Joker's Bat except for Batman himself. Bruce probably heard the threat on television and mustered up a convincing phony suit to try and trick Joker.

_This isn't nearly as fun when Harvey Dent pretended to be the Dark Knight. This just plain pisses me off._

"Just come home with me," Ivy said, "We can leave all of this. All of it. We can go somewhere else and start over. We can just... go."

"It's not that easy for me," Harley said, her eyes lingering on Joker before turning back around and facing Ivy, "I love Mr. J. I don't want live like this but...who else is going to make me feel like I matter?"

Joker had made his way to the knife and quitely he grabbed it and hid it by his chest.

"I will," Ivy said as she took the final few steps towards Harley.

Ivy took Harley by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes.

"You matter to me, okay?" Ivy pulled Harley into a hug, "And I will never leave you."

Harley's arms slowly accepted the hug as she began to cry.

"I'm sorry for the other night," Ivy said, stroking Harley's hair, "I was just scared. I've never had a friend, Harley and I- I messed up."

Joker eyed Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne looked back at him through heavy lids. There were so many striking similarities between Batman and Bruce, the stature, the cut of the face, and the eyes. With Bruce's pale skin and the blood accenting it, the blue of his eyes seemed brighter, bolder but in them was undeniable darkness. As Bruce looked back at Joker, there was a sense of anger and defeat on his face. Joker had seen that face before. Batman had made that face before.

Joker reached a hand to Bruce's face and as he did, he leaned in closer to him.

_Taste it._ Bruce's words came back to Joker's mind.

Joker's tongue did a quick dance outside his lips. He wanted to taste Bruce's blood. He wanted to lean all the way down and push his lips against one of the other man's cuts and see, just test and see if maybe it was the blood of the Bat.

Joker's mouth parted and he could feel the heat of Bruce's breath. Joker kept staring into those blue eyes, digging and digging through them to try and touch the darkness but even as he did, his eyes kept getting distracted by the red of the blood and the spots of flawless place turning to bruise. This wasn't right. It had nothing to do with Batman which it made it less right and even though Joker was close enough to take a taste of blood from Bruce's lips instead he spoke two foreign breathy words:

"Forgive me."

Harley parted from her embrace with Ivy and looked back at the Joker, who was gazing into the bloody face of his prisoner. She then looked back at Ivy. There really didn't need to be an exchange of words between them. Harley had to stay goodbye and while Ivy wasn't pleased with the idea, she knew it had to be done. It wasn't necessarily for a peace of mind or closure or even on Joker's behalf. It was just the fact that you said goodbye to people you loved when you left. You just did.

Bruce wasn't even sure that he heard Joker right.

_'Forgive me?' Why would I-? Why would he-?_

Batman and Joker were not a couple based on forgiveness. That was not the kind of love they had. Theirs was a love of anger and violence and passion. Nobody needed to forgive anybody for what they were. Was it because Joker was seeing Batman for what he really was; Bruce? Did that really change so much?

Joker's words echoed back to him in slow motion. As they faded in with reverb, he felt dizzy and when they crashed into his skull with defeaning resolution, he stood to his feet and backed away from Bruce.

"Who are you?" Joker growled.

"Mr. J," Harley said holding Ivy's hand and stepping closer to Joker, "It's time for me go."

Joker turned around quickly and focused his attention on Harely, forgetting everything about Bruce and Batman.

"So soon?" Joker mused.

"Yes," Harley said, "I have to go home now, to where I belong."

Joker laughed, it was a quick, abrupt chuckle and it made Harely flinch.

"You haven't learned anything have you, Harely?" Joker asked condescendingly.

"W-what do mean?"

Joker sauntered towards Harley and as he did Ivy quickly took on a defensive position. Joker waved her away.

"Don't worry, I'll let her go. I _promise_," Joker said, "I just want to ask a question."

Harley gave a nod to Ivy and Ivy relunctantly stepped aside. Joker leaned in close to Harely's face. His hand slowly slid into his vest pocket as he looked at her. She was so nervous but underneath that he could see she was excited. It was like looking at her through the glass again. She was always waiting for his words of appreaciation from him. She would linger on his every word and move and at the slightest hint of any praise, she would take it and run with it. She was in love with him, even now as she stood there, terrified.

"Do you still think I give a fuck about you?" Joker whispered into Harley's ear.

Harley's eyes grew wide as Joker swiftly took the knife out from his vest and plunged it into Harley's stomach.

"No!" Ivy shouted as she pushed off Joker. Joker went stumbling back with the knife still in his hand.

Harley fell to her knees and put a hand to her stomach. The blood creeped out from the fabric of her clothes and stained her fingertips. She coughed and looked up to Ivy, who was horrified.

Ivy felt the anger welling up in her all over again but this time it was for Harley's sake and Harley's sake alone.

"You bastard!" Ivy screamed as she charged at Joker.

Ivy avoided Joker's swings with the knife. Joker laughed at her as he grazed her arm with the blade.

"You move so gracefully!" he taunted her.

Ivy made a grab for Joker's arms. She held them with all the muscle power she had and she was fueled by her fury. They struggled for a minute and Joker took steps backward until he tripped over Bruce. The two fell down and in the scramble, Ivy grabbed the knife. Too rushed and angry to notice, she held it with the blade facing her. Nonetheless, she did an upward cut towards the downed Joker.

Harley watched helplessy from the floor. She was bleeding so much and it kept bleeding. Pressing on the wound hurt but she had no other choice. She needed a hospital. She needed to get out of there and fast if she was going to survive.

"Red," Harley said weakly.

Ivy's rage had caused her to cut wrong and instead of getting through to the skin, Ivy had simply cut a huge tear in in Joker's shirt and vest. The cloth gapped open wide. Towards the end of her violent thrust, she managed to nick Joker's neck but barely. She had misaimed entirely.

"Red!" Harley shouted, the pressure of the shout hurting her wound.

Ivy turned to look at Harely. Harley clutched her bleeding stomach and her eyes pleaded with Harley. Ivy quickly looked back at Joker who smiled at her mockingly.

Ivy pulled out the small poison syringe hidden in her cleavage. It was fast acting, it took ten-twenty seconds at most. It would kill Joker with all the swiftness he didn't deserve but it would kill him none the less. Ivy raised the poison high, ready to plunge it into Joker's neck. Joker's entire face seemed to dare her to do it.

"Red!" Harleu cried out.

Ivy froze in place.

"I need a hospital! Now!" she cried, "Don't kill him, please!"

Ivy angrily put down the syringe, abandoning it by Joker's face. She glared at Joker. She hated him. She hated him more than she had hated her abusive husband, more than she hated the way people treated her and more than she hated the way people treated innocent things but she loved Harley more than she hated Joker.

_I can't lose sight of that, of what's important._

Ivy punched Joker hard in the face to disorient him a little. She got up quickly and ran over to Harley.

"She saved your life!" Ivy shouted to Joker as she helped up Harley, " I hope you realize that you ungrateful bastard! You're only alive right now because of her."

Harley arm was heavy across Ivy's shoulder as she held her and helped her to make her way out. She knew going to a hospital meant them getting arrested. They were the most notorious crime duo in Gotham, everyone would recognize them. It was all over.

_Thank God._

Harely tried her best to stay concious. She wanted to look over her should at Joker one last time but knew she didn't have the power nor the time. She closed her eyes, let Ivy guide her, and pictured Joker. She recalled the first time her admitted something to her, something real. She remembered how hurt and how small he looked, like an injured child. She squeazed her eyes even tighter and watched as that memory of him faded into black.

_Goodbye...Mr.J..._

Bruce had, at long last, struggled his way through his bound wrists. He pulled his rope burned wrists out from their confines. He slowly pushed himself off of the floor and into a sitting position. His everything ached from Joker's beating but still he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it aside. He stripped himself down to the batsuit. Joker had asked for forgiveness and then demanded to know who Bruce was. Bruce intended to leave no doubts and as he sat there in his batsuit, maskless. _This_ was who he was. Bruce Wayne, a man who knew in his heart that Batman needed to exist and so he became him as imperfect as he may be.

Joker kept his eyes closed for a few seconds longer even though he had long gone into a sitting position. The world already looked a little fuzzy due to the needle the plant woman had stuck him with. He didn't want the world any fuzzier than that so he waited until his head settled from the punch.

When he opened them, he saw Bruce Wayne's face on Batman's body. And it was Batman's, there no denying that. The suit was no replica, it was the real thing. And those eyes, yes those eyes were Batman's too, they were just looking out from the wrong face. No, the jaw was right and so were the lips, pink and in a tight line. And he'd even said it hadn't he? That man, he knew about their blood; Batman's and Joker's. Shared blood. Who else would know?

Joker couldn't move. He couldn't get up. He could barely breathe and yet he spoke.

"So," he said quietly, "you are Batman."

Bruce would have replied. He would have answered with a solemn yes. Maybe he even would have explained himself a little but he couldn't. He was speechless. He was in absolute shock as he looked at Joker. Joker's torn top hung wide open and his chest was bared for the world to see and etched into his flesh was a scar that read:

_Love me._

**A/N: OMG. O: At long LONG last they finally know. Two more chapters after this guys. ONLY TWO. D: Are you excited? ;D**


	19. You Know Made Me Real

**A/N: TWO! :D (Shit be getting serious no?)**

Bruce was completely at a loss for words. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He could barely breathe as he stared at two scarred words in Joker's chest:

_Love me._

Love me: Clearly etched in skin, slowly healing over as if it had always been there. Was this some kind of game to Joker? How long ago had he done this? Why had he done this? And most importantly, did this mean he had Jack?

Bruce didn't care how much his body ached; he forced himself up and grabbed Joker by the torn edges of his clothing. He gripped it with fierceness and brought Joker close to his face.

"Why is that on your chest?" Batman growled, released by Bruce's anger.

Joker smiled ever so slightly. The white of the other man's knuckles, the gravel in his voice, even that smell... blood and rubber... oh this was his Bat. His face was all wrong though, missing key elements of black but retaining all the fear inducing anger and darkness the dark knight was capable of.

Joker just watched Batman with a smile hinting at his lips instead of answering him and that infuriated Batman further.

"Answer me!" he shouted as he shook the Joker.

Joker's expression hadn't changed in the slightest. To Batman it appeared to be a look of mockery, a coy grin betraying a face of total indifference. This _was_ a game to the Joker. Everything was a game to him.

"If you've hurt him-"

Joker brought his hands up slowly. So slowly that Batman wasn't sure what to do. It was a lingering gesture that ended with Joker's dirty hands gently cupping Batman's face.

The smile on Joker's face seemed to grow. It shifted into a real smile. It was open and warm and genuine. His eyes were different though. His eyes were soft and sad. Both parts were an expression of vulnerability to some degree or another but one was happy and the other was heartbroken.

Joker's thumb traced Batman's lips. Oh how Joker had wanted Batman since the very moment he realized that the dark knight was unlike anyone or anything else. Batman was incorruptible, an obstacle in Joker's quest for Gotham's soul, an obstacle that would never move, never budge, never give way. He'd always be there. _Always._

Batman's grip on Joker loosened and suddenly he felt awash with a calm awareness. Batman began to touch Joker back just as intimately as Joker was touching him. They'd never done something like this before, something tender and soft and sweet, at least not for more than an accidental second.

It was a concept that was completely foreign to both of them in regards to each other but that didn't stop them. They stayed that way for a few minutes, hands exploring beyond faces. They touched one another's hair, shoulders, chest; even their hands explored the others.

_I'm dreaming. _Joker thought, not trying to convince his self but honestly believing he was in a dream. Where else would something like this happen? Where else would he allow himself this other than a dream?

Batman's eyes fell to a close. His hands kept roaming Joker and they focused on the feel until his arms wrapped around Joker at last and held him. Batman's breath came in slow and deep. He felt utterly at peace and at the same time right on the edge. It was like that calm right before the fall. It was after the decision to jump had been made but before actually falling, the split second of peace within oneself, waiting for gravity to take hold.

Batman knew that his exposed identity would bother Joker. He'd seen it himself. The way Joker screamed, so painfully like his whole world had come shattering down around him. It had broken something in Joker and if it hadn't been for Ivy's drug, Joker might have stayed that way for God knows how long, screaming until he couldn't scream anymore.

Now Joker was changed. He was softer more tangible and brought back to certain emotional plain where he could accept Batman and Bruce.

_Or can he?_

Batman felt a sudden fear. Maybe this wasn't Joker coming to terms with anything. Maybe it wasn't acceptance Batman was being shown but rather a tender rejection. They had never been this way before, soft and caring, and maybe it was Joker's last indulgence before saying goodbye to the dark knight.

"You're not going to fight me anymore, are you?" Batman tried to word it but ended up speaking his mind outright, "You're leaving."

Joker thought about this in his dream like state. He felt calm and together. It felt like everything right now this way was right. So Batman was really Bruce Wayne. That was okay. It was more than okay.

"Bats," Joker said softly, his voice losing a certain quality to it and gaining a tenderness, "I can't leave you."

Because if Batman could be human, the good kind of humanity underneath all of that power and force and darkness, then maybe Joker could be too.

"I love this too much," Joker mumbled into the other man's shoulder.

Batman went rigid.

_I can't leave you. I love you too much._

The words echoed back slowly to a completely different moment. Batman could feel Jack on his fingertips, taste him on his tongue, and hear him saying those words in his ear.

_I can't leave you. I love you too much._

"Y'know you can't save me, Bats," Joker continued, "You can't save another man's soul, Batman or not."

_You can't save anyone, Bruce, not really, whether you're dressed as Batman or not._

"Sometimes I wonder; do I even have a soul?" Joker chuckled, light and soft.

_There's a lot you don't know about me, things I can't begin to tell you..._

"I don't know why I'm saying all this, but Batsy, you really do complete me. I mean that in every way. You _make_ me. You're the reason-"

"I'm here," Batman finished for Joker.

Batman brought Joker away from him, holding him by the shoulders. He looked at his face and tried to picture it without makeup. He just couldn't picture it and a part of him didn't want to.

Batman reached down and picked up his shirt. He licked it, brought it up to Joker's face and began to rub the makeup off. The way Joker was speaking...it wasn't mocking. It was genuine. What Joker was saying was coming straight from his heart. There was no way that Joker and Jack could just coincidentally share the same ideas, confess that same sort of love.

Joker let his lover rub off his makeup. He even closed his eyes. He trusted Batman.

Batman had managed to get most of the black off of Joker's left eye. Underneath it all was normal, human flesh, rubbed a little red but completely normal nonetheless. Even with just the smallest patch of makeup gone, Batman could tell that the exposed eye belonged to Jack. It was only reinforced when Joker opened his eyes. One eye covered in black with a spark reaching from beyond the dark and the other a bright hazel orb.

_...sometimes I lose myself. I literally lose myself and I become someone I find wonderful and terrible. That's why I disappear all the time, Bruce, because I want to save you from that side of me._

"...Jack?" Batman asked, the name barely audible.

Joker watched Batman's face. Batman looked...surprised...confused?

_No. No! No! NO!_

It was the nightmare all over again. Any minute now, Batman's face would register into a look of horror and he'd run. Joker would turn towards a mirror and under his makeup would be bone. The entire world would come shattering down.

Joker pushed Batman away from him and took a step back. Why did Batman have to be human underneath it all? Why couldn't he just be Batman?

"Jack!" Bruce yelled.

How had Bruce not noticed this? Jack and Joker had the same stature, the same facial construct, the same eyes...

_And I was hurt that he couldn't recognize me...all this time and I never even suspected._

"You're Jack...you're Jack..." Bruce said as he watched Joker cover his face.

"Don't look at me," Joker growled as he turned away holding his hands over his face.

Joker went down on his knees. He inched closer and closer to the floor until he was curled up in a ball, his face still hiding in his hands and against the floor. His back was arched and exposed and Batman watched it carefully, not sure if he should get closer or stay where he was.

"Joker," Batman said, taking the logical route, "I'm not sure how to make you understand this but I think you suffer from multiple personality disorder."

That's not what he wanted to say. It wasn't even close to what he wanted to say. Batman knew that Joker was unaware of Jack. It was in Joker's blatant confusion and panic. It was the lack of using the secret identity as a means to further break Batman. Batman wanted to say very little to Joker. Batman, for the first time in a long time, wanted to say something to God: one word, very simple, and straight forward.

_Why?_

For now though, Batman's cosmically aimed questions would have to wait. Joker was on the ground, curled up as if he were trying to protect himself from an attack. And he was shaking.

"Joker," Batman called again, deciding to walk towards him.

Batman got down on one knee next to Joker. Joker was in such...pain. It radiated from his body. Batman hesitated on touching Joker, almost afraid that the other man's pain could contaminate him and send him spiraling down. It was anyone's guess what Joker was experiencing.

"Joker," Batman said it softly this time, his voice lighter.

Joker still didn't respond. He just cowered on the floor as his own demons demolished him. If Joker stayed like this then he wouldn't finish the nightmare. He wouldn't have to see that he was nothingness and he wouldn't have to watch his beloved Bat look at him the way everyone else did...like he was some kind of monster.

_I'm not the monster. They're the monsters! A whole world built on lies. A _society_ that makes itself sound better than it is. Oh yeah, you're all great fucking people. From the little white lies to the greed and, dear God, all the fornication. You'd all sell out your first born for spun gold in a heartbeat or maybe it'd be for food or a just a good ol' fuck. I'm not a monster because I'm not a liar. I'm an animal. I'm a dog chasing cars. The rest of you are trying to sit there and play poker._

"I'm not a monster," Joker mumbled, his voice unclear and wavering.

Batman caught the sentence but just barely. He didn't know what to say to that. Joker _wasn't_ a monster. Joker was just...sick. He needed help. He needed to be saved and maybe that was the real reason why Batman couldn't bring himself to kill him. It wasn't because of his resolution to not stoop to criminal level, at least not entirely. Batman wanted to save Joker.

"You were right," Batman said quietly, "I can't save you."

Joker heard this. It seemed almost like one of the voices in his head. Joker had incased himself in the man-made darkness of his position. He was enveloped by his own arms and the mysterious voice he heard was quiet and muffled but audible and understandable.

Batman had finally had his breakthrough. He couldn't save Joker. There was never any saving Joker. Even if Batman had somehow made Joker not crazy, then what would he be left with? Batman had fallen in love with Joker. Batman loved him for exactly who he was and everything he stood for. In his own way, Batman even believed in it a little. There were a lot of people in the world who were unfeeling monsters but as violent and crazed as Joker was, he wasn't a monster.

"...do you love me?" Batman asked.

He didn't honestly expect a reply but Batman noticed that as he sat there and spoke, Joker seemed to shake less. It looked like it was helping.

Joker took in the statement. The darkness had asked him if he loved it.

_No._

_'Then what do you love?'_ The darkness took over its own voice and spoke to Joker.

_..nothing._

_'Then who do you love?'_

_No one._

_'Then what is it you want?'_

_...Batman._

_'Is wanting not a way of loving?'_

_No. Yes. No._

_Do you love this Batman?_

"...Bats..." Joker said, allowing the title to slip off his tongue.

Batman reached over slowly and he placed a hand on Joker's back. Everything felt complicated, at the same time everything seemed simpler. Batman's next phrase didn't require any logic or thought. It wasn't an impulse. It was too fluid to be an impulse. It was just...natural.

"All of me," Batman said, "loves all of you."

_Try to explain to me why anyone loves anybody._

A memory: Vivid as light itself of Bruce Wayne, standing in yellow sunlight. He was dirty but shining as if he'd come up from the ashes. The light played on his skin. He was golden. _Golden_ as if God was smiling down at him.

_We're all a little crazy, Bruce._

Joker's face in the cracked and broken mirror. An identity lost under makeup. A satisfaction in being chaos but underneath that, the lingering human desire to be real.

_We're all a little messed up and twisted and wrong..._

Batman pinning Joker. Joker hitting Batman. Blood. Bruises. The expressions of terrified onlookers. The emptiness Joker felt and the expression of deep thought on an aging Bruce.

_...but we love in spite of it all..._

_Running. Running? Why am I running?_

_Because I'm scared._

_Scared? I'm the Joker. I don't feel fear._

_Who's the Joker?_

_The hard impact of metal. Rolling up and then back down. Can't get up._

_'What's your name?'_

_The kindness of a stranger._

_Two strong hands grabbing at my shoulders. Blue eyes. Concerned blue eyes. Mouth pulled into slight anger. I'm bleeding. My scars were bleeding._

_'Who did this to you?'_

_The love of a stranger._

_I'm making love. My body's making love. Bruce Wayne is making love with me, to me. He's beautiful. Just as beautiful as he was when I saw him through the glass plate at the asylum. I've loved him, I love him. I love Bruce... and Batman. I love. I-_

_But love isn't real. It's an excuse; an excuse for codependency and fucking. Just another societal rule used to make us look better than the freaks we are._

_It's not called being a freak...it's called being human._

_Humanity is a joke._

_That's why you're the Joker then. Maybe even more human than the average?_

_Shut up! We're all freaks! Animals! Liars!_

_Human. Human. Human._

_I can't love!_

_But you do._

_We do. We all do._

_I don't understand! I DON'T UNDERSTAND!_

_Kill the Bat._

_Love the Bat._

_Kill Bruce Wayne._

_Love Bruce Wayne._

_Love. Death. Killing. Loving. Something. Do something. Anything._

_Poison. Poison to the right. Redhead dropped it there._

_Take it._

_Kill._

Joker reached slowly. Emerging from his self-made darkness. The dim light flooded in as his hand inched towards the syringe. He had to do something. His body commanded it. He was beyond thought and his nature had overcome him. He needed the violence, ached for the stability of it and his hand was sent by slow impulse. His fingers closed around the body of the syringe slowly.

Batman saw Joker grab the syringe. He knew what was coming. He always knew that they'd be the death of each other. Whoever was pushed over the edge first, the other was soon due to jump. If Batman had killed Joker first, Batman would have gone into a downward spiral of guilt, never recovered, and died old, alone, and hiding in the Batcave. It would be Joker though that would break first. He couldn't suppress his nature forever. Batman knew that.

_Take it all out me._ Batman thought again. _I won't just bleed. I'll die. For you. Only for you._

Joker's grip tightened and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Joker flipped his body over. He was now sitting. His hand came towards Batman with all the force it was capable of. It was volatile. It was chaotic. There wasn't even much aim in those white knuckles, gripping the syringe so hard that blue veins were popping out from Joker's wrist.

Batman didn't close his eyes. He kept them open, not in shock but in awareness. He watched the Joker's face. It wasn't madness or violence. It was total anguish. It was pain in its most concentrated form. Joker was heartbroken, raw, torn.

As Joker's hand moved in slow motion his mind spoke a thought. From where it came or from who was anyone's guess. It could have been Jack. It could have been Joker. Or maybe it was just the heart of the body, that body's soul, speaking up for itself and it said:

_No._

Joker blinked at the same time Batman did and it seemed that in that blink time had resumed normalcy. Batman was prepared to feel the needle dig into his flesh but with open eyes he looked and saw that there wasn't any needle in him.

Joker looked down to his hand. It had betrayed him? Saved him? Saved Batman? It had seemed to take on a will of its own and aimed itself into Joker's own arm.

Batman watched as Joker pushed the poison into himself. He still had that look on his face, that tortured sadness. Batman was too in shock to stop Joker and Joker managed to get all the poison into his system before tearing the needle back out of his flesh and throwing it across the room.

Joker forced himself to look at Batman even as he begun to feel dizzy and his body started to go limp. He forced himself to stay upright by using his arms as support even as they were quickly beginning to fail him.

"No," Batman said as his arms gently went in to hold Joker against him.

Joker started shaking. His whole body shook and seized. The poison was fast. He couldn't tell what it was nor did he care. As he was dying, all he wanted was to look at the face of the man that was holding him. Joker forgot everything, violence, crime, Gotham's soul, even the fact that he was Joker.

This blank slate of a dying man knew one thing and one thing only; he was going to die looking at the face of the other man holding him. Because he loved him. He didn't know why or even who this man was but he knew he belonged in his arms. He knew he loved him more than anybody had ever loved anyone.

_To die in your lover's arms._ The empty man thought, _what a beautiful way to begin...what a beautiful way to end._

His body started to go still. It had all happened in less than a minute but he used his last bit of energy to keep his eyes open and watching the other man. His hand tried to make the journey to his lover's face but it couldn't make it. It just stayed, the last of his body to shake as he still struggled to get it to caress the other man's face.

"I...saved you," he said before his hand fell to dead weight and his eyes to a close.

Joker had stopped shaking. He'd stopped breathing. He'd just...stopped.

"Get up." Batman commanded him, "You're not dead."

Batman shook Joker a little. He knew he was gone but he didn't want to know.

"Get. Up." Batman demanded but Joker stayed lifeless.

"GET UP!" Batman shouted as he grabbed Joker's body harshly.

Joker's head lolled to the side. He was heavier than usual. How was it that once the soul left the body, the body got heavier? Maybe it was the body's way of saying it wanted to return to the dirt. It made itself heavier, harder to move so that it could go back into the earth, undisturbed.

But Batman couldn't leave Joker to the concrete here.

Even though Batman's body was beaten and it ached, he forced his arms to lift Joker up. Batman held Joker like a bride, close and tight but he was solemn. Each heavy step solidified the lifelessness of the body in his arms but Batman didn't care. Quiet tears streamed down his face but he didn't stop. He wasn't going to let it end like this, in the basement of some cold building. He was going to take Joker where he really belonged, where Jack really belonged; home. And then this poor, broken little body Batman was caring could finish what it had started. But not here, not in a place like this.

There was no saving Joker's Life. There was no saving Joker's soul. But Batman could save Joker in one way. He could rescue him from rotting here. He could save him from being found by the police and picked at by curious scientists. Batman wouldn't let them desecrate this body. He could manage to save Joker from that. At the very least from that.

_I'll keep you safe. I'll save you...I will._

**A/N:**

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**OMG ALL MY FEELS. D: One more chapter after this guys. Only one. D:D:D:**


	20. That's All I Wanted in the End

**A/N: One.**

Bruce had a rose in each hand. One was red and one was white. He looked to the red. It was a deep red that rivaled the color of blood. He looked to the white and is was pure and blank. It had taken weeks to find just the right kind of roses. At first, he was hesitant to use roses again for yet another passed love one but it didn't seem right to use any other kind of flower. A rose was the flower of love and, to Bruce, the flower of death. It was used to honor the love of those who had passed. He knew that on his parent's anniversary, he'd get a bouquet of red roses, but a light, naive red. Rachel had always gotten a pink rose, soft pink and a little sad. Alfred never received a rose. No, anytime Bruce went to see Alfred, he talked to him. But only him, and that was his special honor.

It had been a year since Joker and Jack's death and the first anniversary was always the hardest. It had seemed that time had passed very slowly and in a way it had. Bruce hadn't been Batman since that night. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

Bruce put the white rose down first. It was the whitest most flawless rose the world had to offer. It was as pure and as blank as freshly fallen snow. It was for Jack.

In the past year, Bruce had a lot of time to think things over. He realized by examining Jack's past dialogue that Jack eventually became aware of his identity as Joker. However, Jack was separate from Joker. Otherwise he would have lined up motives. In a strange way, maybe he did but Jack wasn't Joker's secret means to harm Bruce or Batman. Jack was Joker's way of loving Bruce and Batman.

It could be said that Bruce and Joker were in love. Bruce was the real person and Joker was the real person. However, Bruce and Joker couldn't really love one another, so they took on identities that allowed that to happen. When Bruce was Batman, he became that immovable object to Joker's unstoppable force. When Joker's mind created Jack, it invested Joker's humanity which allowed him to love Bruce openly. They'd always loved each other through masks but at the end of the day, the masks took on lives of their own. So in the end all of one loved all of the other and vice versa.

Bruce put the white rose down on the ground, resting it against an unmarked grave. There rested one body, two people, a split mind, and a beautiful soul.

Bruce now had just the red rose in his hand. It was the deepest, reddest, darkest rose he could find. Blood red, passionate, and dark. It was Joker's.

Bruce set it down just as carefully. The white was on the left so the red was on the right and they lied beautifully against green grass and grey tombstone.

Bruce heard a rustle in the tall bushes around him. He'd placed Joker and Jack's resting place very carefully. It was in his estate's gardens right in the corner, a private little spot that he'd remembered from childhood. The bushes had grown tall and a little unruly but there was plenty of space and the hole in the bushes had accommodated the years of height. Bruce had to duck down a little and the entrance was right by the large stone wall so he had to press a bit against that but it wasn't difficult.

Jack and Joker now occupied the spot and it was the only spot of garden that Bruce bothered to maintain himself. So Bruce found it strange that there was an intruder but despite that, he remained calm.

"Y'know," Harley huffed, "for a famous rich guy, you sure are a pain to find."

The accent in voice was light. Not like Bruce's previous encounters with her.

"Hello, Harley," Bruce said.

There was a part of him that expected her to show up. A few days after Bruce had buried his lover, he had gone back to the building where it had all happened. He was going there to remove any evidence, dressed in normal clothes but wearing a cloak to conceal his self. He had seen Harley walking around, alone. She too was not in costume. He'd been watching her through the old, shaky, black and white security system of the building. She'd been gathering some things, her things, from an older room somewhere on the second floor before she had gone into what Bruce had assumed was Joker's room.

Bruce had watched as Harley slowly walked into the room. Each foot step was delicate but deliberate. She'd gone into the closet, taken down one of his custom suits, sat down on the bed and cried.

"I watched the tape you left for me," Harley said.

It was the security feed from the night everything had happened. Bruce had snuck down to Joker's room where Harley was and left it right outside the door for her with a note attached saying, 'watch me.'

"You realize he was going to kill you, right?" Harley asked.

Bruce nodded. Yes, he knew. In fact, it was what he was expecting.

"But he didn't," Bruce said, not in a contrary way but just as a matter of fact.

"He must've really loved you," Harley said quietly.

Bruce still stared at his lover's unmarked grave. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. Harley moved in closer and stood next to Bruce.

"Aren't you afraid that I'm gonna blow your secret?" Harley asked.

Bruce gave in to turning and looking at Harley. Her hair was down, cut short and dyed brown. She was wearing a black dress and a pair of sunglasses. Bruce wondered briefly if she'd gone to the trouble of wearing colored contact lenses too.

"You're not going to say anything," Bruce said.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because, it doesn't matter to you. The only person you would have cared to share that information with was Joker."

Harley sighed.

"I'm _real_ predictable, aren't I?" she asked.

Bruce looked down to Harley's side. She was holding a briefcase, a rather big one but Harley held it with little effort.

_Papers?_ Bruce wondered.

"Maybe not," Bruce answered, "what's that?"

Harley looked down to it and smiled. She held it out to Bruce.

"It's a present," she said cheerfully, "from Mr. J."

When she said his name, her voice got sad again and the accent seemed thicker.

Bruce hesitated taking it. He wasn't sure why. He just couldn't bring himself to take the brief case.

"Well go on," Harley urged, "I promise, it's nothing dangerous and it really did belong to him."

"So you're not angry with me," Bruce deducted.

Bruce had feared that Harley would watch the tape and blame Bruce/Batman for Joker's death. In a way, Bruce often blamed himself for Joker's and Jack's death. Batman was responsible for Joker and, in the end, Bruce was responsible for Jack. He was reason they existed. He was the reason they died.

"Of course not," Harley shook her head, "Anyone could see that he committed suicide, clear as day."

There was silence. Suicide. That didn't seem like the right word for it. Sacrifice. That seemed better.

"Are _you_ angry with yourself, Bruce?" Harley asked carefully.

Bruce didn't know how to word it. Yes he was. No, he wasn't. Not angry. He just felt... guilty and lonely.

"If it hadn't been for me," Bruce said, "I don't think this would have happened. If I had never been Batman, there would have never been a Joker. He could have been spared all of this."

"If there had never been a Batman," Harley reasoned, "then you're right, there wouldn't have been a Joker. But if there hadn't been a Joker, then you would have never loved him. Who knows who Mr. J would have been but he would have never gotten to find you and even though I know he's incapable of loving, he still loved you somehow."

Not only that but no Batman meant no Joker which meant no Jack. And whether Bruce wanted to admit it or not, he found a lot of healing in just being Batman so no Batman meant that Bruce would have forever been a broken man. He was still broken but he was healing now and he had loved in way he'd never know again.

"I know it's painful but you still have your memories, the good times, and eventually, you'll figure out what to do with yourself. Maybe you'll even be Batman again."

"It seems that all I have is memories." Bruce said as he looked back at the grave.

"'We only have what we remember,'" Harley quoted, "A very smart man said that once, a poet. Red and I ran into him when we were checking out the east coast a few months ago."

Harley put a hand on Bruce's shoulder and nudged him to look at her.

"It's not your fault, Bruce," Harley said, "And don't think I didn't do my research on you when I say that nobody's death is your fault. Your parents, Alfred, Rachel, Joker."

"You've psychoanalyzed me," Bruce said flatly.

"Yeah," she smiled a little, "believe it or not I was actually pretty decent at my old job."

Harley held out the briefcase to Bruce again.

"I think he would've wanted you to have these, maybe. You knew him better than I did, doesn't feel right for me to keep 'em y'know?"

Bruce took the briefcase. It was tan, light leather with a dark handle. Bruce was sure that it was papers. The briefcase felt weighted but still too light to be carrying anything else.

"So, what's happened to you and Ivy?" Bruce asked.

Harley gestured to herself.

"As you can see, we've gone on the lamb," she smiled, "Red's hair is black now which kind of irks me but that's the way it goes."

Bruce had no inclination to turn them in. Really, the correctional facilities were meant to correct behavior and Bruce could tell just by looking at Harley that she was a different person now. He could only assume that Ivy was the same and the lack of eco terrorism in the news seemed to aid to that conclusion. Batman wasn't a bounty hunter so why bother them?

"Have you found a place to stay?" Bruce asked.

Bruce knew better than to invite them to hide out in the mansion but at the same time he wouldn't have minded. The past year had been unbearable lonely. He could use the company even it was a couple of ex-cons.

"Yeah," Harley said with a pleasant expression on her face, "It's a little island a few miles off the coast of California. Nobody owns it and Red says it's just perfect for growing. We're just going to stay there for a while, me and her. Be a couple of jungle babes I guess, at least until all the heat cools and we can really start over. For now though, we're happy."

Harley turned away from Bruce. Bruce was a little disappointed that Harley already knew where she was headed with her life. It wasn't anything particularly grand but it was a direction and Bruce envied that.

"Oh, and, Bruce?"

"Yes?"

Harley turned around quickly and hugged Bruce. It was extremely unexpected on Bruce's behalf. Harley just couldn't help herself. He was Joker's Bat and even though that had made Harley crazy with jealously in the past, she saw the man as one of the last links to her beloved Mr. J.

"He'd want you to keep being Batman," her accent was back and her voice hinted at tears, "Gotham needs ya, Bats. He knows, I know it, and so do you."

Harley had to lean up but she gave Bruce a kiss on the cheek before turning and disappearing through the brush.

Bruce knew that Harley was right. Even with Joker gone, Gotham had started to slowly go back to the world it once was and on every radio and television station, people seemed to cry out for Batman.

_But I don't know if I can answer that cry anymore..._

Bruce needed more than memories and a grave. He wanted something tangible. He just wanted something that reminded him that he meant something to someone on a more human level. Yeah, he was the Batman to Gotham but that didn't help him sleep at night. He wanted Joker and Jack back but he knew that was impossible so instead he yearned for something –anything, that he could take into his old age that would remind him. To solidify the craziness of it all and forever make it something real.

...just something to really prove that Joker had loved him. Then maybe he could be Batman again. To honor that love.

Bruce carried the briefcase back into the mansion. He went into Jack's old room and sat down at the desk. He opened the briefcase and papers seemed to explode out of it, flooding all over the desk.

They were poems. Hundreds of poems. There were sonnets, haikus, free forms. Any possible lyrical set up any English major could imagine.

On the inside of the briefcase was note taped to the top.

_Bruce,_

_I held on to them since he was in the asylum. I never really understood why since they're all about you but maybe I did it because I was meant to give them to you. I've folded the last one he wrote and hid it behind this note. It's a little...weird but maybe you'll make more sense of it than me. It's Mr. J's work, no doubt but it's not quite him. Like I said, just take a look._

_- Harley_

_P.S I'll be back next year. Just to let you know. I love him too, Bats, so you gotta share._

Bruce took the note off of the top carefully and a folded paper fell into his lap. Bruce opened it slowly. It was twenty lines, every other one rhyming, at least at first glance. It would take Bruce probably the whole night to get through all of the poems but he'd start here, with the last and as he did, he decided to read it out loud.

"I wrote a little something. I wrote it just for you..."

**A/N: AND IT WAS DONE. I really enjoyed writing this fic. It's really getting me to open up my abilities and test how far I can take stories. This is officially my longest story standing at twenty chapters and I am proud I pushed-cough-forced-coughcough-DRAGGED-hackandgag- I mean, got myself to the end. I really hope that you guys have enjoyed this little journey with me and for those of you who didn't want a sad ending... I'm sorry but this is how the whole story was laid out from the beginning. ****:( I've learned a lot about myself through this story and I hope at least one of you enjoyed it overall.**

**Now, for a quick update. To answer the question before it's asked, I won't be making a Harley/Ivy sequel. However, I might write an Ivy prequel and all about Ivy's life before she came to Gotham. For anyone following the shorter Batsy/Joker fic, Smile For Me, I'm going to try and get up the ending sometime next week. :D**

**Thank you all for reading. :)**


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